Just A Flower From An Old Bouquet
by RumAndNukaCola
Summary: There's someone new in town, doing Rorschach's work for him. Are they genuine or just a copycat? Meanwhile, the person next door refuses to turn their music down. Possible Prostitute? Includes OC. No romance within. Okay, I lie. Maybe just a little.
1. Introduction

**This is my first upload. A little nervous. Hoping I don't mess up. Please note there's a lot of language here, so block those freakin' ears. This whole thing was inspired by my next door neighbour asking me to turn down my music, as well as some old Andrews Sisters records I found a while back. After this introduction chapter most of the chapters will be in journal format, followed by a chapter of non journal stuff and so on.**

**  
This chapter contains lines from the Andrews Sisters song _'Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen.'_ I added the lines because while I was writing this scene I could literally hear the song in my head as I pictured it. Seriously, it's a great song and really sets the mood for the scene, especially if you liked the opening fight scene from the Watchmen movie. If you can, look it up on youtube or whatever and listen to it as you read. You should. It's good. Will make me smile. **

**Anyway! I have babbled enough! Carry on! And most of all, let me know what you think.**

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It's 2.30am, May 17th. He lifts open the window. She still hasn't locked it. Stupid woman. Music's still on, loud as ever. If memory serves him right, it's an Andrews Sisters record.

_Of all the boys I've known and I've known some, until I first met you I was lonesome…_

He can't help but feel a little nostalgia, 'Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen', hasn't heard it in years.

_And when you first came in sight dear, my heart grew light…_

He already knows no one's there, but he scopes the area in case. Nothing stirs as he lowers himself through the window, carefully adding his bodyweight to the floorboards.

_And this old world seemed so new to me…_

Feeling a little less cautious, although still on guard, he makes his way to her kitchen, searching through draws for any drugs. Nothing suspicious.

_You're really swell I have to admit, you…_

He heads over to the freezer.

_Deserve expressions that really fit you…_

Opens the door, opens container labelled 'ice cream'. Sure enough, in a zip lock bag, a wad of cash and some bullets. Jackpot.  
And then, a voice.

"What the fuck?"

_So I've wracked my brain, hoping to explain  
All the things that you do to me…_

She stands there, in her doorway. He freezes. Music was so loud he didn't hear her approaching, or the door opening. Idiot didn't wait long enough to see if she'd definitely gone. She's in a blue bathrobe with a cup of milk in her hand. It looked like a blue coat when he watched her walk out through her curtains. Her manner of dress shoots panic into him. Does he give her a chance to co-operate, run or interrogate her like he usually would?

_Bei mir bist du shoen, please let me explain…_

Doesn't matter. She's obviously made up her mind before him. She drops the milk and grabs a baking tray off the bench and bashes it against his face with lightning speed.

_Bei mir bist du shoen means that you're grand…_

No time for moral dilemmas now. While crouched down from the impact he's quick to send a right hook from underneath and impact the bottom of her jaw, sending her backwards with a grunt.

_Bei mir bist du shoen, again I'll explain…_

She clutches her jaw and cracks it back into place, using her free hand to feel along the counter until… bingo. A fruit knife but a knife nonetheless. Her fist grips around the handle and just as he comes as her she swipes.

_It means that you're the fairest in the land…_

He's too quick, leaning back and just narrowly avoiding he swipes. He can't _not_ notice that she knows what she's doing. Threat level rises.

_I could say 'Bella, Bella,' even 'Wunderbar,'_

He quickly rips a microwave out of the electrical port and hurls it at her, the force of the object as it hits her in her stomach throwing her backwards and into another room with a crash. She's landed on a dresser.

_Each language only helps me tell you how grand you are,_

She's on the floor, on top of the collapsed rubble of what was her cheap dresser, the things that sat there gathered around her as she clutched her ribs, in double the pain thanks to the existing damage. She can taste blood. He's entering the room and heading for her.

_I've tried to explain 'Bei mir bist du shoen,'_

She quickly lifts herself up a little and kicks him square in the sternum, causing him to stumble back and trip over the same microwave. She uses this opportunity to launch herself up and straddle him, before laying down as many punches as her weakened self could manage.

_So kiss me and say you understand…_

He, however, is not as weakened as she is, and grabs a now obsolete lamp, striking her in the skull as hard as he could. She topples off and to the side of him, breathing heavily and struggling to keep moving, clutching her head and using her legs to try and push herself away. It's his turn to do the same to her as a moment ago, except as she turns her head to face him, he notices something.

A single black-pearl earring in her left ear. He glances to the right ear. A giant split in it that's already started to heal, a sign that it's not recent.

The music continues to blare in the background as he gets off her, keeping a hand firmly on her neck. He raises her up so she's in a sitting position, ready to interrogate her. But it's too late. She's unconscious.

It's okay. He's got all night.


	2. May 12th May 16th

**Just to re-iterate, this chapter is a journal chapter. Italics are Rorschach, non-italics are OC I've yet to even name.  
_Perfectly_ aware I shouldn't even have to explain but just in case someone didn't get it. **

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_Rorschach's Journal, May 12__th__, 1984: Quiet tonight. Seems the vermin are on vacation. Only noise coming from neighbour. Won't turn records down. All from 1940s to 50s. Too young to have been alive back then. Suspicious. Positive she's a whore. Came back at 4.30. Music still on. Possibly using music to cover sounds of indecent lifestyle? Must investigate further._

--

May 13th:

Woke up at about 12.00. Big night last night, but I didn't expect to sleep in for so long. Lucky thing I don't have my day job today. But I digress…

Someone left a note on my door, it asked me to turn my music down. I don't think it was from the landlady; she hasn't had a problem with it before. She probably can't even hear it from the bottom floor. Either way, the bastard didn't even sign it. Not going to turn it down unless they come forward, it's not like I'll bite or anything. Jesus.

Considering not going out tonight. If I do I'll work the docklands. I think I'm coming down with something.

Gotta remember to buy eggs today, bake some brownies for a client. Might give Mom a call today, see how she's fairing. TV says Paris is having a heatwave, I hear it's bad news for the sick.

--

_Rorschach's Journal, May 14__th__, 1984: Vermin came back with vengeance. Three attempted rapes, had to break into two houses to investigate child porn ring. Sprained ankle caused by landing on cat in suspect's apartment. Cat un-injured._

_Neighbour's activity still suspicious. Left note before I left in the morning, she ignored it. Planning on confronting her today. Haven't actually seen her before. Even more suspect. _

--

May 14th

I seriously cannot believe the nerve of some people! This guy who lives in the apartment next to mine shows up – well, not really shows up, I think he was waiting for me to leave my apartment – and asks me to turn my music down. You remember me writing about the smell that comes from that apartment, right? And the landlady's always wailing about the state of the place. Who the hell is this guy to tell me what to do in _my_ own place?

Anyway, come to think of it, who _is_ this guy? I mean I know I come in an out at all odd hours because of work but I've never actually seen him before and I've been here for 4 months now. So either he locks himself in there all the time or he's never even in there to have anything to complain about anyway.

Ugh, so I look at him and say 'Okay, I'll turn my music down when you clean your apartment and take a shower.' And then walk away. What a creep. He smelled just as bad as his place, too, like he'd just caked on aftershave instead of bathing. He wasn't even polite. Gotta remember to buy a better lock now that I know he lives next door.

Didn't go out last night. Spent the whole time with the shakes. Might go to the doctor tomorrow and see if anything's up. Free clinic sounds like a plan. They don't ask a lot of questions there. Managed to bake the brownies, though. Also called Mom. She's worse for the wear, not coping well with the heat.

Feeling better this morning, though, maybe it was just something I ate? Anyway, I'll probably go out tonight. I've got a lot of catching up to do. Left the music on. Asshole can suffer.

--

_Rorschach's Journal, May 15__th__, 1984: Child porn ring busted by the time I tracked them down. Cops already there. About time they caught on, suspicious as to how they found out. Possible surrender or trick? Must remember to investigate. Can't let my guard down, could be a trap._

_Neighbour leaves window open while she's gone. Stupid mistake. Decided to check out her apartment, confrontation with her this morning left me more than inquisitive. More aggressive than she should be, must be hiding something. _

_Record player was still on; apartment reeks of cigarette smoke despite all evidence pointing to her smoking on the fire-escape grates outside window. All lights still on, was she expecting someone? Found journal, pink binding with 'diary' on front in gold italics. Typical. Found points of interest. Works two jobs, second one seemingly at leisure. Prostitution? Mentions clients, baked brownies for them. Possibly giving baked goods to clients after fornication. Could also be brownies laced with drugs, wouldn't put dealing past her. Mother lives in Paris. Her manner of speaking points to her being American born, doesn't mention any other relatives. Mother is ill. Possibly paying for mother with drug money?_

_Mentions me in journal. Not fond of me. Says she won't turn music down. Tempted to turn it down while there to spite her, but can't risk her linking it to me. Also mentions visiting free clinic to avoid questions. Very suspicious. Will investigate tomorrow._

_Disposed of brownies while there, just in case. Went home, took off face, hid under floorboard as a precaution. Too close for comfort._

--

May 15th:

Someone broke into my house. I can tell. My brownies were gone. For a second I thought it was the guy from next door, but the music was still up. I should really find out more about this guy, and then invest on bolting the place down.

It was busy last night. I only got back at 6 and had two hours rest before work. Thinking of leaving the day job, living off money my mother sends me every month. It'll be a bump down, but as long as it pays the rent.

Going to go out tonight. No work tomorrow and maybe I'll come across the jerk who broke in, give him a piece of my mind.

--

_Rorschach's Journal, May 16th, 1984: There's someone else out there. Someone else in a mask. Don't like it. They're not leaving any tracks, hard for me to find. Need to track them down soon, they're doing well now but they're a copycat. They'll get killed. Gazette is eating up the news. No leads at all other than a single, black pearl earring found at the scene, apparently ripped out of the masks' ear. There's two of us now, the scum are on the edge of their seats. Here's hoping the new mask knows what they're getting into._

_Had time to head to free clinic. Was lucky, on call doctor dealt with possible drug whore. Co-operated, gave information without broken appendages. Smart man. Drug whore has abrasions to wrists, neck and ribs. Shins are bruised. Signs of possible bondage play. Acting hurt for money. Reminds me of my mother. Don't like her at all. Need to keep occupied until leads on other mask arise. Will be sure to investigate as soon as possible._

--

May 16th:

Got beat up pretty bad last night. My ribs were already in a poor condition but I think this one guy broke them. I'm having trouble getting up and about.

Called my day job, told them I'm giving my two weeks so I can stay with my mother. They believed me, told me to not bother coming in. Still getting paid for it though. Awesome! I'll really need that money now.

I wont be going anywhere tonight. That bastard might try and get into my apartment again. He didn't take anything last time but I was lucky. And it's not like I'm going anywhere with these ribs. Besides, that other guy will cover me.

I actually called the clinic to make an appointment with Dr Wright today, he's gone out all of a sudden on 'mental health leave.' Shame, I really liked him, too. Wonder what made him leave so suddenly?


	3. 1975

It's 1975 in Paris. She's 14.

"Mom…" she sighs, shifting the weight from one foot to the other, tugging on her mother's $400 sleeve. "Can we _pleeaaaseee_ go back to the hotel? I'm so tired…"

"No." she says, bluntly, handing her daughter the tickets. "This is a very important night and you aren't going to ruin it for me. Besides, Mr Jenkins works for Harper's Bazaar, it will do you good."

She grabs her daughter's face under the chin, examining it in the light, her face furrowed. She grabs out a tissue and licks it before cleaning the corner of her daughter's mouth.

"I shouldn't have let you have that crepe,' she mutters, pocketing the tissue. "Your eye shadow is all smudged…" she adds, wiping the corners of her eyes with her thumb. "It'll be dark, hopefully he won't notice. Give me a second…"

Her mother rummages through her handbag in search for makeup to refresh her daughter's appearance. She looks around, initially for a way to escape from her mother, but eventually setting her attention on the lights. She's heard of this place before, the Moulin Rouge, but hadn't been too interested. A giant windmill with neon lights and spotless red suede covering everything. Feather boas are draped on the walls, lined with glass cabinets advertising all sorts of souvenirs.

Her mother grabs her hand and the tickets and pulls her through the doors into the dining hall to be shown to their table. At the round table are all people older than her, a very elderly woman dressed as if she is in her 20s, a fat man who seems overly excited at whatever is happening on stage, a man with a funny moustache and a shirt that is too tight for him and a woman about her mother's age with thin glasses and a haircut like a man.

They all seem excited to see her mother, and she is introduced to each. "This is my daughter," her mother would begin, "Genevieve." She always pronounces her full name when she's trying to get something, as if she's a variety of wine for sale. It makes her feel uncomfortable.

"Genevieve," the woman with the boyish hair repeats, looking her up and down with eager eyes. "How…_ lovely._ So lovely… I bet a lot of people name their daughters that." She says, her voice almost like a drone as she gives a sly smile to her mother.

"Uh… my friends call me Vivi." She adds. She feels her mother grip her leg tightly under the table. She's obviously not permitted to speak anymore.

"_Why,_" The same woman asks, taking a sip from her champagne and raising an eyebrow. "Would you have people call you _that?_ They may mistake you for a _Vivian…_ not of course, that there's anything wrong with that."

"Now, now," the fat man laughs, thumping his glass on the table. "I think Vivi sounds grand! Makes you sound like a little minx…"

She tries to change the subject onto what she wants. "Vivi would like to be a model some day."

Genevieve can see the woman snicker, and the fat man grin. He's sweaty and his fingers look like great sausages. "Does she, now?" he chuckles, grinning heavily. "Well… well…"

Her mother begins discussing possibilities with the man. She watches the dancers on stage instead.

A week later, her mother leads her into the man's apartment.

"Be a good girl and do whatever he tells you to, understand?" She whispers, knocking the door. "Don't blow this. We've worked very hard."

Twenty minutes later, he's on top of her, panting heavily, making weird noises.

Ten minutes after, she asks him if she can be in the magazine now. He laughs and tells her "Not with _those_ hips." There's shouting outside.

In 15 minutes, he's dead, there's a lampshade smashed next to his head, which is bleeding profusely. There are sirens outside. She can see people running into the streets.

In an hour, there is a riot outside. She gets dressed, breaks a window, and places a Molotov cocktail on the floor as she walks outside. As she walks down the stairs, she hears an explosion. The fire alarms go off. She leaves the building.

Two days later, the United States passes the Keene Act. Two weeks later, the same happens in France.

A week after that, they return to the United States.


	4. May 17th to May 21st

**FIRST COMMENT! Awesome! Biiig thanks to atheneblue for the kind words. Almost gave up there. :( No, seriously, I thought it was coming out boring or crappy or something.**

**Speaking of which, even if you don't like the story please _do_ give me some tips. I don't usually write fanfictions but when I do it's for... 'practice.' Therefore all input is appreciated.**

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_Rorschach's Journal, May 17th, 1984: It's her. She's the one running around in the mask, doing my job. Far too small to be suspected initially. Was stupid enough to allow myself to get busted while I was searching her apartment. Big mistake, glad I made it. Knew something was up when conflict began, she was too good to not be up to something. Drug whores can barely walk. Managed to pin me at one stage. Felt uncomfortable. Can't let that happen again._

_She's currently unconscious, debated taking her to hospital but decided against it. She has information for me. Found her costume. If you could call it that. Pair of shorts and a bomber jacket. If I didn't know better I'd say she's a whore. Still have my suspicions about that._

_Can't help but feel a little edgy about the concept. Prefer working alone, but idea of twice as many vermin being eliminated is a pleasant one. Doubt this can happen peacefully. Might have to kill her._

_--_

_Rorschach's Journal, May 18th, 1984: Visited favourite dive bar today. Didn't take many fingers to get information on Genevieve. They're calling her 'OFN,' I'm informed this stands for 'Outta Fucking Nowhere.' They tell me she's weak but quick. Like a ghost._

_Stopped by her apartment. Not there. Probably at hospital. Left note on her pillow, not signed, she'll know who it is. Confiscated several bootleg videocassettes._

--

May 19th:

I'm not sure if I'll make it through the week, I have every right to believe I'm dying.

Rorschach was the one who broke in; he was suspicious of me for something unrelated. My luck fucking sucks. He'd thought I'd left and then started searching my place when I went to ask the landlady for a cup of milk to bake my replacement brownies. I saw him in the kitchen with my emergency stash in his hands, and freaked out. I belted him with a baking tray. I have made some serious mistakes in my like but this one tops every single one. Guy nearly fucking killed me. I'm also down a microwave.

Actually, I'm pretty sure his intention was to kill me, but he noticed the earring before he got the chance. I'm kinda lucky I forgot about that and didn't take it out. Guess I'm lucky to have left anything at the crime scene at all or I'd be part of one myself.

I went to the clinic. I told them I got mugged and they did their best. I was in there overnight and they sent me home with painkillers. I remember back when they would have had you in there for weeks if you were this injured. Guess they need the beds more nowadays.

Rorschach… he… knows everything now. He says he'll be back. I'm not looking forward to it. I'm not sure if he'll kill me or something else. I wish I hadn't let that bastard kick my ribs in the other night; maybe I could have taken Rorschach then. Probably would have dodged the microwave.

I'm really scared. No, I'm not scared…

I'm horrified.

--

_Rorschach's Journal, May 20th, 1984: Girl started sobbing the minute I walked in, begging me not to kill her. Pathetic. Hate women when they're crying, they look like big red, weeping tomatoes. Makes me want to cut them open, make them shut up, make them stop complaining._

_Begged me not to hurt her. Face is still a little swollen, seems very mobile considering possibly shattered ribs. They say women have higher pain threshold. I disagree._

_Drilled her about bootleg videotapes, seems adamant that she found them at a flea market. Let her off lightly, she seems to have got the message._

_Seems I've broken her for good. Told me everything. About past, present, running around in cheap, homemade mask. Says costume is something she's using until she can afford materials for something better. She plans to continue, I'm not going to intervene. Find her difficult to fully understand. Killed a man after she willingly fornicating with him to further her career at the time. He took advantage of her. Her own fault, killed him anyway. I fail to see how this explains her current position. Is she making up for her own whorish blunder by exterminating the dogs that inhabit the city? Can't tell if her intentions are genuine or a veiled and vein attempt to enter heaven._

_Has no idea who I am, but music has remained off. She tells me I owe her a microwave. If she genuinely believes I plan to compensate then she's no smarter than the people she claims to have disdain for._

_Will return tomorrow. Have much more to discuss._

--

May 20th:

Jesus fucking Christ. There are no words to explain the awe I'm in.

First of all, he didn't kill me. Didn't even touch me. Although he growled at one point and I thought I was a goner. I was washing the dishes and then all of a sudden he was behind me, and I started crying hysterical like a retard. I was down on the ground and everything. So much for trying to come off as a tough vigilante. He must think I'm a fucking weakling.

Then he pulls up a chair, points to it, and demanded I talk. First he grilled me on the pirate videos I had. Told him the truth, I found them at the flea market. I was going to try and justify it but he managed to scare the shit out of me without even moving. Never buying anything fake ever again. I'd hate to think what he's like over an unpaid parking ticket.

Then he orders me to tell him why I'm doing what I'm doing. I felt like a total idiot, because there's not a doubt in my mind that he doesn't want some chick running around playing super hero. By the time I told him everything I expected him to tell me not to even think about going out again. He didn't, though, surprisingly. He told me he'd be back, again. Tomorrow night. I think I'll close the window so I might have half a fucking idea when he's here.

I'm not sure what I should feel anymore. The great Rorschach, the guy all the cops are after, the city's favourite psychopath, busting into my apartment. I guess all I can do is hope he won't kill me next time. Not sure if hoping will save me, though.

Gotta remember to call Mom, tell her I love her.

--

_Rorschach's Journal, May 21st, 1984: She was expecting me this time, had a gun on her. Said she thought I wanted to kill her, handed it over anyway. Smart move._

_Seemed more inquisitive, didn't sob tonight. Impressed with her, although worried she's getting too used to my presence. Demanded to know why she shouldn't just throw me out now. Pointed out I'm not the one with broken ribs._

_She wants to know why I kept coming back, was hinting that my intentions were sexual. Had to stop myself from injuring her, reminded myself of her past, makes sense. Can't help but feel a sense of admiration for a woman with distrust to men. Also would explain homosexuality, which seems to be a possibility. One moral lapse out of thousands isn't bad. All ex-partners had lapses, Dr Manhattan was an adulterer and paedophile, Comedian was a rapist although otherwise admirable, the second Niteowl was too soft, Ozymandius chose to prostitute himself to build a corporate career and the second Silk Spectre was a juvenile whore; that aside, they also had one fundamental flaw in common: a lack of resolve. Still do.  
_

_She wanted to know if I was going to try and stop her from acting as a vigilante. When I informed her I had no intention to intervene on her lifestyle she suggested the possibility of an alliance. Intrigued me, but made me otherwise uncomfortable. Haven't had a partner since Dan. Dan didn't dress like a whore to fight crime. Said if she covered herself it would be possible, although not official._

_Left and went on patrol. Received a wound to the back of shoulder. Would have avoided it if I'd been faster. Made me think about proposition harder._


	5. May 15th 1984: A Chase

**Oh goodness! Comments and feedback, how I love you with all my heart!**

**Thanks to KatsWords141 and Katie Havok their feedback. I'm glad you enjoyed them and the next non-journal chapter will be a different POV, scouts honour! I see what you mean by dry, so I'll work on shaking things up within the next chapter or so. Hopefully this will do until now, though. And I'm so pleased to hear the OC is somewhat believable, hopefully this means she's not a Mary Sue. I'm actually writing a paper at the moment on 'Mary Sues throughout popular litrature' so I constantly find myself nit picking at her mannerisms. However, please let me know if at any point I cross the line and I'll be sure to sweep in and rectify it. Aaaand enough on that topic...  
**

** Also, I'm so glad you guys enjoyed the cat comment. I was so worried there would too far-out for Rorschach, but I'm glad it worked out. :)**

**Anyway! Keep them rolling in! I sure do love feedback, makes me smile. **

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It's the 15th of May 1984.

She hears the man's skull crack against the pavement, some blood splattering against her shins.

"Shit…"

She steps back, and even though this has happened before, she feels a panic go through her.

"Shit, shit, shit."

She gives a sigh and takes a deep breath. Third time this has happened. And she was doing so well… until now she'd gone at least a week without killing someone. She'd just started to think she could do this without causing too much harm.

She turns around and sighs. Old abandoned warehouse? How very cliché. Now that she's killed him she'll have to dispose of it. She glances at the boxes filled with child porn; they scream 'fuel' to her.

As she places the boxes around him she shakes her head and begins to reflect. If she could just control herself just a little bit, if she could just take a deep breath and handle the situation a little more calmly then this man would be tied up outside and waiting for the police. She wouldn't be getting ready to commit arson.

It's not that she didn't _want_ to kill him… in fact, if she wasn't afraid of the consequences she'd just kill every hard criminal she came across, like that Rorschach guy they're always writing about. But it was like she'd been programmed to fear. As if something had been implanted in her brain reminding her of moral implications and ethics, and the consequences that come with working against them.

She empties some alcohol bottles and cleaning fluid around the boxes and makes some clean circles around the warehouse. She's convinced this is the best course of action, in fact, twice in one week she's done this, and they're still trying to decide weather to blame Rorschach like usual or blame a new, fire-lighting menace. Probably the latter. Have to keep the people afraid to control them.

As she stands outside and tosses the match behind her and into the doorway, she can't help but give a disappointed sigh.

_Being controlled by fear._ She repeats to herself as she quickly slips under a grate and into one of the stormwater drains. Sounds exactly like her. It's a few minutes before she can even hear the sirens fly past above, they sure are slow in New York. She continues walking down the storm water system, taking note of the nearest grates should a storm erupt all of a sudden, even though she doubted it.

She pauses, hearing shouting and grunting from the particular grate she's under. She carefully and silently climbs up the steel ladder, and cautiously peeks through, lifting it just a tiny bit.

At first she prepares to jump out and stop what looks like a mugging… but then she hears a name.

"No! Please no! Oh god, Rorschach, come on, you gotta listen! He was… oh, no, no, NO!"

The voice gives a final, blood-curdling cry that makes her hair stand on edge and gives her a perverted sense of satisfaction. Just as she notices the blood trickling into the grate, her foot slips from it's hold on the moistened metal of the ladder's circular rung. She slips down, crashing her chin against a rung but managing to stop herself from falling, the grate dropping back down with a small clunk.

She freezes.

The echo of the drain amplifies the noises of the grate and her cry as she slipped. She hears him for the first time.

"_Hurm…_"

She can hear footsteps coming closer to the grate, and panics, dropping down and landing roughly in a puddle beneath the ladder. He's directly over the grate now. She breaks into a mad dash, trying to stay as quiet as possible but failing miserably thanks to the splashing of her feet through the liquid gathered in the bottom of the drain. She hears the grate move and madly sprints to the fork in the drain system, choosing to take the left path.

She hears splashes from the other end of the drain. He's following her. The first ladder she sees, she almost leaps up, climbing as fast as her arms and legs can make her, tossing the grate aside with no care as to who or what might see, or where she's emerging, and pulls herself up as quickly and with as much ease as she's ever felt she's done.

Luckily it's an ally between a restaurant and a tailor. Obviously, it's the outskirts of a nicer part of town because the streets are dead at 3AM, something you don't find in the areas you find kidnappers. She stumbles up onto the concrete and quickly weaves back belong one of the buildings, manoeuvring herself up the fire escape and into a dumpster placed at the very end of the first floors grating. She gathers the material of her jacket and breaths into it, hoping to mute the sound of her panting. She can hear his footsteps.

The footsteps stop underneath her for just a moment, and she holds back from becoming a useless, sobbing, sack of failure.

They continue. She's safe. She waits until she hasn't heard them for about twenty minutes until she finally emerges, still shaky from the event as she pushes the lid of the dumpster up.

She knows there's more out there, but she's in no condition to help them.

All she can do is go home, smelling like garbage and trying to recover from almost having a run in with the cities most notorious vigilante.

_I'm such a coward._ She says to herself as she takes off her mask and pulls her hood over her head. She shakes her head, not only did she nearly die at the hands of a psychotic masked justice, but also it's at least two hours walk home.

This will take some time to get used to.


	6. May 21st to May 25th

**VERRRRYYYY quick upload. It's 1.30AM in my neck of the woods, I really have to sleep. Shout-out to **KatsWords141 **again, she just keeps boosting my moral all the time. If you get a chance, read her stuff, especially _Famous Last Words_ if you want an amazing Rorschach and OC romance. Or at least as Romantic as I can imagine him getting, anyway. So yeah, this and the next chapter tonight.  
**

**Now! Time for me to rest!**

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May 21st:

I was so horrified of him last night I waited until 1 in the morning with a gun. I don't know what the fuck I was thinking, I handed it over straight away anyway. I'm such a coward.

I told him if he was here for a lay that he wasn't getting one. Big mistake. It actually looked like he was resisting killing me there, so I assume that's not why he keeps coming here.

I seemed to ask him more questions this time. He told me he wasn't going to stop me from going out, which was a relief, because my ribs are becoming bearable. In fact, I would have gone last night if I wasn't worried he'd set my place on fire or something. I read about a twelve year old being raped on 19th Street, I've got to move fast to find whoever did it.

Anyway, I offered to work with him. If we work together we can do twice as much damage… but he seemed hesitant. He told me I should cover myself first, so I take it he doesn't like the current getup. Not sure what I should go for now. He seems to get by pretty well in just a trench coat and suit pants. Oh, and a hat. Maybe I should get something like that going on… or maybe not. I got the feeling he doesn't like me cramping his style. I still gotta get myself a cool hat, though. Even if I just wear it around the house.

Speaking of which, might go shopping today, see if I can get some good fabric or anything. Hopefully I've put enough away.

--

_Rorschach's Journal, May 22nd, 1984: Didn't visit her until 2, had hands full with drug ring. Wasn't waiting for me this time, found her in her room, sewing. Said she baked brownies for me, was eating one at the time to prove they're harmless. Already knows how wary I am of her. Thought of her predicting my behaviour makes me uncomfortable. Could prove damaging._

_Brownies were good. A little worried that she's so comfortable with me. Questioned her intentions, she informed me she feels I'm 'awesome.' Her manner of speech is equal to that of a teenage girl at times. Says she's in her mid twenties, rarely acts it._

_Wouldn't tell me what she's sewing. Left within the hour, took a brownie with me. Disposed of it when I realised that I'm letting my guard down._

--

May 23rd:

Well, I was up all night sewing it, but it's done! I'm so excited about it. The jacket fits perfectly, and I had a little trouble getting the pants to fit my hips, ended up overestimating and making the waistband too big. A belt should fix it up, though. I added a hood to the jacket at the last minute. If I can't have a hat I can at least have something covering my head.

I'm pretty eager to show it to him, I feel so fucking dumb. But, that being said, he's the only person I've told about this, and the only human I've had contact with for a while now. Although, how human he is, exactly, is questionable.

He visited last night. I knew he'd come, so I made him some brownies. Noticed he took one for the road, I felt a little bit flattered. If I didn't have such terrible daddy issues I'd be all over this guy, although he smells a little funky. I guess fighting crime works up a bit of a sweat, though. Surprisingly, he doesn't smell too much like man-scent… no, more like cheap cologne. Man scent is the one thing I hate the most about them, when they smell like they've been doing push-ups for half an hour. It's worse than sex smell. Sex smell is so bad that you only need to smell it once to remember it for the rest of your life.

Called mom, told her I'd been hanging out with a new friend, made the asinine mistake of referring to them as he. She's practically planning a wedding. Stupid woman. She's so worried I'm a lesbian she forgets she's got cancer. I'd love to tell her what happened… but I just don't have the heart nowadays. Guess I waited too long. Fuck my pride, seriously.

Going out tonight, with or without Senior Rorschach. I'm pumped to bust some face.

--

_Rorschach's Journal, May 24th: Was too late. Left a note on the window, she'd already gone. Found her two hours later drowning a man for a confession at the shipping yard. Admitted to raping a twelve year old. Stepped in and snapped his neck. She seemed offended. Impressed with her technique, but disappointed that she wanted to let him be arrested. She's soft._

_New costume far less revealing, feel comfortable looking at her in a black coat, even if I can make out woman's figure. Still wears red mask, insists it compliments the outfit Typical. Putting fashion before practicality. Told her red would be easy to see, she replied that if she was doing her job right it wouldn't matter. Entertaining logic, albeit flawed. Tells me I inspired new coat. Liar. Hundreds wear coats like mine. Protective, warm, non-descript, suitable for job._

_Vermin in bar didn't lie. She's quick, and incredibly flexible. Gets into places I couldn't get into without having to kick door down. Contributes this to years of dance lessons. Has the dexterity of a ballet dancer but the persona of a common mall rat. She had too much fun for the first few hours._

_Still soft. Carefree attitude went out the window with topknot's jugular and subsequently any hope of her proposed alliance. Has an issue with eliminating them. Not sure if this is something surpassable or a moral issue. If it's the latter then she needs to be reminded of the bigger picture._

_She left shortly after I put a whore down. Works out well. Don't have time for female mood swings._

_Knew this wouldn't work._

--

May 24th:

I'm not sure how I should be feeling… dear god where do I start?

The start of the night was okay. I managed to track that rapist down. I spent a while giving him some very intense diving lessons until he confessed. By then, of course, Rorschach had caught up with me and took the reins. He broke the guy's neck… it… it didn't sit too right with me, but I tried to ignore it, I pretended he was comatose.

Rorschach liked the costume… or at least he gave that impression anyway. He didn't like the colour of the mask, but to be honest I just can't be bothered changing it. So, I told him it complemented my outfit. Seemed to keep him quiet about it, I doubt he'd be one to argue with something so girlie. He seems like a bit of a manly man's man to me.

We spent a few hours breaking into suspect's places. He wanted to break down their doors and totally ignored that they had perfectly exploitable ventilation windows open, and he seemed a little impressed with the way I do things. It gave him a chance to sneak-attack this old fat Russian dude. He broke three of his fingers. I won't lie; it was pretty fun to watch. We repeated that about three times with variation on what got broken. He managed to break a guy's hip in one kick, which was awesome!

Then on the way to some warehouse I got mugged by these guys he calls topknots. We decided to take different routes so we wouldn't be connected with each other yet, and I guess I don't look scary enough to avoid a mugging. I also guess that Rorschach doesn't trust me enough to not yet killed yet, because he turned out to be following me from the rooftops. Way to let your guard down… I totally could have taken them all, too! So we're taking this group of topknots down when one kicks me in the back and winds me. I was fine, really, but Rorschach used the chance to uh… well, the guy tried to knife him… so Rorschach stabbed him in the throat about seven or eight times. Things got less fun after that…

It's not that seeing the guy die made me squeamish… I don't know how to explain it. I think… it's like; I'm not comfortable with the challenge it presents morally. I mean, I've gone all my life being told that killing is wrong and that these people have families and their own lives… but to feel like I've achieved something afterwards… it… makes me feel weird, like I'm going to get in trouble. I guess I suck dealing with the anxiety. I was really paranoid after that, worried that the cops would come and stuff. I don't know why, they've never caught me before… ugh, this is stupid.

We found a hooker who was trying to kill another hooker. Rorschach killed her, just like that. It made me a little jealous… but then the paranoia and anxiety came back. I couldn't handle it, the feeling that god's watching me and that even though it's the right thing that I'll be in trouble when I die. I went home after that.

I feel like such an idiot. Maybe if I wasn't such a fucking emo I could have stayed. He must think I'm a weakling.

-

_Rorschach's Journal, May 25th: Stopped by her apartment before I began. Was going to tell her she was on her own. Found her costumed up when I arrived, apologised for the night before, said it wouldn't happen again. Seemed sincere. She insisted on taking the rooftops this time, says I'm less likely to get mugged in an alley. Not entirely stupid notion. Worked well. Too well. Streets were dead tonight._

_Got information last night that shipment of heroin would be coming in via boat. Arrived at place of exchange an hour early, waited on nearby rooftop for first party to arrive. Presented opportunity to assess her ability to present a real benefit to us. Says her ribs are nearly healed, and her black eye is visibly improving. Couldn't help but feel a little remorseful for causing injuries, but still maintain it was necessary; Doubt she would have let me off without, either._

_Asked her about choice of music. Still occasionally hear it as I pass during day, but at a much lower volume. Tells me it reminds her of her father, says he died in a shooting when she was ten. Possible further motivation for current vigilante activities? She tells me he was a criminal, caught distributing pornography illegally in the mid 1960s. Divorced mother in the early 60's and had a string of girlfriends. She's adamant that he was a good man, though, despite his philandering and criminal activity. Obviously damaged, noticed she has a skewed view on men in particular. Seems to trust me. Speaks for itself._

_Wanted to know more about me, even asked if I planned to tell her who was under my face. She's smart, she won't ask again._


	7. May 28th 1984: An Epiphany

**More action next chapter. I promise. Honest to god. I was just in a very... iffy mood and it effected my writing. Urgghh... _but_ I like how it came out so here it is anyway.**

**djfdskhfdjklafdbjkvd**

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It's the 28th of May 1984.

"I don't think you understand."

She looks at him, holding an umbrella above her head. The purpose of the umbrella escapes him, she's soaking wet anyway. Even so, he can still see her weeping. Her face is puffy, and her eyes are bright red. If it wasn't freezing she's probably be red, too, just like most women.

He stays silent.

"You… you don't _understand…_" she sobs, swaying a little. He quickly glances to her feet. Beside her is a bottle of Vodka, red label, cheap stuff you can buy at the discount supermarket. It doesn't take a genius to realise she's intoxicated beyond reason.

"You… you… that girl… she was eight… _eight!_ She didn't even do anything _wrong_… and… and…"

She turns, looking over the edge she stands on, down on the street below, the wind scattering garbage as the rain pelts down onto the dirty asphalt, as if trying to clean the city of the amalgamated filth.

"You know… I kept thinking that maybe _I_ could be the good in the world, that I might be able to change things for someone… and for a while," she laughs, stumbling a bit and keeping him on guard to quickly grab her should her usually impressive balance fail her.

"For a while, I thought that maybe it was possible… and you know, it's not exactly like you kept me grounded or anything, by god, I thought… still _do_ think the world of you, well, actually, I was horrified of you at first to be honest… but then I saw that little girl tied to that bed… and those little wrists tied up so tight they were bleeding… and her mouth… that little mouth that should have been laughing and singing and eating ice cream… she could have been anything, a doctor, a lawyer… she could have gotten married in a big white wedding… I wonder if she could even ride a bike? Jesus Christ, Rorschach, the girl probably wouldn't have even been able to describe what they were doing to her!"

She's silent again for a moment, her eyes scanning the street. She holds the umbrella in front of her, smiles and lets go. She looks content, as if she's in a paradise, as if she's far, far away from that wet and dark rooftop with a psychopath in a mask. They both watch the umbrella fall, gently and softly swaying as the air caught in the folds of the clear plastic, eventually flipping and turning until it hit the pavement.

"I… don't know if I want to live in a place like this anymore."

He hates to try and reason in these situations, but he tries anyway, feeling a sense of obligation towards his unofficial partner. "Then go somewhere else. Detroit, New Jersey, Paris."

"Heh," she throws her head back, her face directly in the path of the rain. "Why? So I can sit idly by while little French girls are tortured and raped and mutilated? I just don't like it… _here._"

She dangles her right foot off the edge, swaying a little. He moves swiftly, grabbing her forearm with a tight grip and pulling her back from the edge. She gives a squeal and stumbles into him, her face against his chest. Before he can pull away from her she begins to giggle.

"Oh, Rorschach, I never took you for… _such_ a _romantic_."

She laughs as she dances backwards and he looks her up and down. "Disgusting."

Her laughing stops and she stares at him inquisitively.

"Disgusting." He repeats.

"How am I disgusting?" she giggles, stepping back and brushing her hair back from her face, the trusses clumping together. Even though she laughs and smiles, he can see something different in her eyes. Concern? Maybe. Pain? More probable.

"Not you." He says, "Me."

She stops laughing and tries to stand still to face him, confusion of her face as she stumbles a little.

"Stupid. Stupid mistake. Thought you were different. Saw something in you that I used to see in other masks. Must have made a mistake. Lapse in judgement, unusual for me. Disgusting mistake to make."

Her eyes thin and she frowns in a drunken manner that almost looks comical. He continues.

"Thought you'd be a good person, help eradicate streets of vermin and filth, maybe even prove my assumptions on you to be incorrect. Instead you proved them right. Not good, not even admirable; a weak, bubbling whore like the rest. Might as well be stalking through the ally ways and laughing like a hyena like the rest of your kind. Might find some purpose there."

Any comicalness in her is gone now and she looks as if she's about to leap forth and strangle him. He finds the thought laughable.

"I… I am _not_ a whore!" she shouts through her gritted teeth, her voice cracking from what he can attribute to many cigarettes in a short time.

"Strapless dress, no shoes, running makeup, all femininity drained from voice by cigarettes, heavily intoxicated, soaking wet and without any regard to keeping out of rain, suicidal thoughts… not the traits of a human being, traits of a gutter-trawling whore."

He prepares himself for her to attack him, it will be an easy fight, she was never that strong and now that she's drunk she'll be less than able. But instead, to his surprise, she crouches down and holds her face in her hands. He turns his back to leave; it's making him feel ill.

"Rorschach!" she calls out. Despite telling himself to continue, he stops.

"I… I… you…"

There is a pause and she takes a deep breath.

"How do you… how do you deal with this shit?" she asks, her voice quivering, no doubt from crying. "You saw it and you didn't even feel anything…"

"No." He replies, not turning to face her. "Felt something. Anger, revulsion, contempt…"

"Then how do you keep _doing_ this? How can you keep this up?"

He pauses. How _did_ he keep it up? He thinks back to his mother in that room, making those noises. The fear at first, the confusion, the disgust… and then when her hand hit his face… the anger, the hatred, the hurt… seeing those dogs playing tug-of-war with the remains of a small child… the horror, the brief sorrow, then the murderous rage and contempt that any human was capable of such things…

"Motivation." He replies.

There is a silence and he makes his way to the fire escape. As he reaches the edge he feels something, a tugging on his sleeve. His first instinct is to roundhouse kick his assailant… but the pull is too soft to be that of an attacker…

Before he can think further, the body attached to the tug speaks. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry that I'm soft… I'm sorry that I'm weak… I'm just so damn… so… so…"

"Angry."

"…Yeah." She says quietly, taking her grip off of him. There is a silence. He anticipates her to speak but she says nothing. It feels as if she's giving him a choice; he can leave forever and say nothing, turn his back and forget she ever existed and leave her to sink into the ocean of sin and bad choices like the rest of the whores, or he can give her that final chance, and hope that the spark in her that he hadn't seen since Dan will come through… maybe her skin will become tougher, maybe he'll save her and have one less whore to deal with.

"…Go to bed." He growls, tilting his head downward a little. "Tomorrow night we let the city know that we know, that we're on he same page."

She gives a relieved sigh, it sounds sort of like a giggle. He interrupts her relief.

"Won't happen if you're intoxicated. Can't be seen with a less than estimable accomplice. Final chance. Don't give them often."

At that moment he leaps down the fire escape and out of sight. He doesn't want to hear what she has to say. All he can do is hope her moral lapse won't outshine what he knows she can do. A little trauma never hurt.

Maybe she needed to break and see the world for what it is before she could see the truth.


	8. May 25th to May 27th

**Okay, same thanks to Katswords as per usual, she never lets me down. :) **

**Also, just a quick note, this next chapter and the one after it are a wee bit uh... disturbing. Like, okay, yeah, I know, it's a _Watchmen_ fic for Christs sake, you should be ready. But they're very graphic subject matter, involving children. (Not sexually! No no no! Not a pedo! I mean violently murdered children.)**

**Okay, warning you then came off as creepy. I'll shut up now.**

**Also, derailment, but does anyone know anything about the DVD release yet? I'm going to the UK at the end of the year and I'd just love to have Rorschach keep me company during my excruciatingly long plane flight. Wishful thinking? I googled it and it's TBA at the moment, but maybe some here has some delicious inside/hardcore fanbase info for me?  
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May 25th.

I think I redeemed myself. 'Think' being the key word.

He let me come last night, thank god. I don't think I would have lived it down if he hadn't. I took the rooftops this time; I don't think he would have been too pleased if he'd had to save me from a bunch of topknots again. No one attacked him, I guess his reputation proceeds him more than I'd expected. The streets where quiet tonight.

We decided to follow that lead we got from the Russian guy last night about the heroin shipment. We got there early, about an hour early, so we had some time to talk. Or… realistically, it gave him time to ask me about stuff. He asked me about my dad, couldn't help but feel I gave him a 'crazy girl' vibe. When I told him my dad was a good man he seemed sceptical. At least I'll talk about dad. Or my Mom, for that matter. I wanted to ask him but I was too scared after he growled at me for asking if he'd ever let me know who was under the mask. Not asking again.

He's a weird guy, Rorschach. He terrifies me, but unlike most other men he doesn't make me feel uncomfortable. I was watching him break the dealer's nose during an interrogation and I even felt a little admiration for him. Maybe it's okay to feel a little scared; maybe it's not even fear. Maybe it's respect.

--

_Rorschach's Journal, May 26__th__: Noticed she wasn't waiting for me tonight. Thought something was wrong, broke into her apartment. She was showering. Stupid, irreprehensible mistake. Was lucky not to see anything, won't happen again. Can't happen again. Infuriated her, tried to throw a glass at me. Her aim is lacking._

S_he seemed more motivated than I've previously seen her. Informs me a girl's gone missing. Sienna Buchanan, eight years old. Parents last saw her when they kissed her goodbye for school, she never came back. Seems to strike a chord with her, insisted we find her. Said she'd look with or without me. Agreed to assist, heroin shipment seemed to be as far as drug ring went; problem has been stopped at source. Her safety takes priority, not sure if she's emotionally stable, may become distracted, get killed._

_Can't in all good conscience allow her to die, see something in her. Seems to believe in things, genuinely wants to help. Sincerity. Haven't seen that in a person since Dan. She reminds me of him at times, still a glimmer of innocence. Kept Dan levelheaded, keeps her held back. Now is not the time for innocence, it's the time for redemption._

_Chased leads with her until almost 5.30. Her determination strikes me as unexpected, had to threaten her to make her go home and rest. Still fears me. Only thing between us, keeps me comfortable._

--

May 26th:

Bastard made me come home, he knows I'm afraid of him. Jerk. Jerk, jerk, jerk! He was telling me we wouldn't make any progress in daylight. I disagree; I don't think they'd expect us. He said I could either go home willingly or he'd put me in a condition where I'd wake up there. What an asshole. Who does he think he is, my dad?

I just want to save that little girl. She's eight years old. It breaks my heart, she must so be scared, and I can't even begin to imagine the pain her parents are in. If they've touched her I'll be more than happy to watch Rorschach do what he does. If they're smart, she'll be unharmed, though.

We got some great leads, though. Rorschach said something about going to 'Happy Harry's' or something. I've never heard of the place but I can assume he goes there a lot; he seems to regard it as a reliable source of information. He told me he can't go there with me. He said we're not partners, and we can't be seen to be. I guess he's right saying that. Pissed me off a little, but he's right. And there'll probably be times where I'd just slow him down anyway.

Also, if he even comes close to accidentally seeing me naked again I will accidentally kill him. I don't want to kill my own partner.

--

_Rorschach's Journal, May 27th: I was right. She's not emotionally stable._

_Started off night at Happy Harry's, without her. The less that's known about our alliance, the better. Didn't take long, they knew why I was there. Rumours are in the air, about me. And someone else. Putting people in hospital. Made sure they continued to be called 'rumours'. Information was lucrative, took us right to where the suspects were hiding._

_Went to collect her, found her singing and washing dishes while she waited. Music was loud enough for her to not hear me sitting in window, not loud enough to drown out her voice though. Singing is as good as cooking. Find it a shame that she has such debilitating issues with the opposite sex, would make good quality housewife. Some of us are destined to lead lives that don't seem meant for us. Was once again infuriated when she realised I'd been watching her performance. Threw plate at me in anger/shock. Had to dodge this time. Lucky shot._

_Went straight to suspect hideout. Crack house in area populated by gangs and their drug whores. Allowed her to sneak in window between broken bars, opened door to fire escape for me. Door was deadlocked, testament to intelligence of those who dwell there._

_Found one person, probably guarding whatever drugs they have stored in the home. Made a misjudgement in thinking girl was hidden somewhere, began to interrogate them. During interrogation, she found the body in the basement. Found her hysterical, girl was mutilated beyond comprehension. One of the worst I've seen. Tried to get the body free, three of the scum entered, immediately took advantage of her lack of attention. Had to save her from her own inabilities, put all three of them down._

_The rotting and decay of the girl's body permeated the basement, but the sound of her weeping was what made me feel ill. Managed to get body down, cover it. Left bodies of the twisted monsters outside, house will be searched; girl will get proper burial she deserves._

_She didn't say anything on way back to her apartment. Had to escort her, seemed dishevelled. She entered her window, dropped mask, lit cigarette. Didn't look at me once._

_Left in silence. Didn't look back. Tonight will not be easy for her._

--

May 27th:

I have seen some awful things. Some fucking twisted, terrible things. I don't even know how to explain what I saw… I just… my god, how could someone do that?

She was so little. Tiny. People say children stop being babies at six, but she still looked like one to me, maybe it's just my ovaries and maternal instinct talking. I don't know. I don't want to know.

I just wanted to take her back to her parents. I… those poor people. Their little girl… such horrible things that shouldn't even happen to criminals. Every time I close my eyes I see her, strung up like that, her legs all over the place and absolutely shattered in all sorts of horrible places. Her mouth was literally cut out of her face. Cut out! Why would someone do that? What kind of sick, twisted fuck would do that to a little girl?

I don't understand anything anymore, everything's changed… I can't look at anything the same anymore. Rorschach talks about justice, and how he kills people who deserve it… But what did she do? What did she do that warranted that? Nothing. That little girl didn't do anything wrong, hell, even the worse murderers and rapists don't deserve such a terrible end…

Will they tell her parents what happened? Will they ever see her? Will they even spare them from seeing their own mutilated child or do the legal implications of our bureaucratic system put them through such torment? That would make them as bad as the scum that did that to her.

How could they allow it to happen to her in the first place? Where are the police, the investigators? They spend their time looking for Rorschach when they should be protecting eight-year-old school children from becoming victims of sexually perverted monsters. And god. Where does god come into play? I'm starting to question everything… god can't exist, and if he does he's just an old, useless cunt in the sky that watches and takes pleasure in schadenfreude while good things happen to innocent people. He punishes the wrong people. Her family were a good family, they worked hard, and her parents didn't deserve to lose their child in such a way. Nothing will ever justify losing a child.

People try to make it better by telling you she's in 'better place.' Until now I thought they meant heaven. But now I realise what this better place is and I agree.

I would rather be dead than in a world that allows this to happen.


	9. May 27th and 28th: A Familiar Situation

**I'll tell you what sucks? When some little bastard you live with uses up your internet, capping it out and meaning you have the speed of a dialup connection until May 4th. And then every time you get online to finish uploading a chapter your internet gets cut out for some reason. Yeah. That sucks. This has to be my 8th attempt at getting this online.**

**KatsWords, you have failed to let me down once again! I love getting your comments, and I did name her Genevieve at some point (after my cat.) I thought it sounded a little Mary Sue-ish for some reason, so I decided to go down the whole 'Well her name's there but I'll use it as little as I need to so YOU can pretend you're in the story or whatever' track. Which I guess in the end kinda defeats the purpose of avoiding a Mary Sue name, but you get my drift, right? I guess it's more or less so you can see her how you want to and get your own ideas. **

**Also, I realise it's rated M, but I'd just feel bad without the warning in there, especially considering sometimes people just expect graphic, delicious, sexual goodness.  
(Which I wish I could write sometimes.)  
**

**ANYWAY! Enough of my babbling, time to get back to writing the next chapter and worrying about H1N1. Hahah.**

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It's the 27th of May, 1984.

"Please man!" He begs, his wrist aching in his impossibly tight grip. "Please, don't do this!"

He ignores him, taking his hand and twisting it, feeling as it pops out of its socket and sits on an awkward angle. The man screams in agony, launching off his chair and onto the dirty floor of the bar.

"Okay man!" he screams. "I'll give you the address! Just stop! Please!"

"Address first."

"It's… it's… 8, Government Street, the one with the pirate flag out front, you can't miss it!"

He drops the man's hand, the release of pressure causing him more pain. Someone is calling 911, time for him to leave.

It's raining outside. Not a downpour, but enough to keep most people off the streets unless they have to be there. He can see the drops pouring off his fedora, and feels the drizzle on the back of his coat. He makes his way down the street, taking the alleyways, heading for the apartment blocks she lives in. He knows the way perfectly, he sometimes forgets he lives next door to her. But when he does it's enough to make him feel uncomfortable.

He climbs up the fire escapes, being careful as the water has made the grating slippery. She's on the third floor, but he can hear the music from the second. As he gets to the fire escape she uses as a smoking area, he can hear something else. An unfamiliar sound, doesn't match the voice coming from the record player. Pleasant, though.

The window is already open. She's obviously expecting him. He wonders how she manages to keep the apartment warm as it is, let alone with the window open for him all the time. He steps off the grating and through the frame, stopping himself mid way and sitting on the sill. She hasn't heard him yet.

He can't help himself, he stays there. She has her back to him, washing dishes and singing her heart out. Something stops him from interrupting, he's not sure what. Possibly because she's not bad at all, possibly because she seems so happy, and for some reason this makes him feel a little happy. There's something nice about seeing her act like a normal woman, without father issues, without a dark past, without murders under her belt.

She turns around, still unaware he's there. However, her voice cuts off when she notices the figure in the window frame. She instantly tosses a plate at him, he ducks down and it smashes against the already peeling wallpaper. A part of him wants to tell her she throws like a girl, but he resists. It's not the night for that, and she doesn't seem to have a lot of dinnerware left after their previous brawl.

He gives her about five minutes to get changed, which he spends going through old records next to the player. The majority are from the 1940s to 50s, although he did see one or two from the late 1920s. He can remember some of the covers from his childhood, in fact, he remembered the song on at the time. He glances at a picture on the wall, her high school graduation photo. Assuming she was 18 in the 70s, he's much older than her. He can't help but feel a little uncomfortable, like he's perverted for working with a younger woman. He reminds himself it's not that much of an age gap, and that there wouldn't be anything sexual about it. Ever.

She comes out of her room, dressed and ready, and he sets down the record in his hand. He can see a seriousness in her eyes tonight. She means business. She says nothing as she pulls her hood over her head and exits the window. He's impressed that the resolve from last night hasn't left her.

They make their way to the hideout. It's an hour's walk. Usually he'd take the subway, but that would mean taking off his face, taking off the thing that kept her afraid, the last barrier between them. No one knew who he was, he wasn't going to change that now.

They enter the area, one he's familiar with. Densely populated, rap music pounding from every second dwelling onto the unkempt streets. She walks ahead but he keeps an eye on her, the few who don't disappear into their homes at the sight of him watching her eagerly or making catcalls. They assume the mask alludes to seedy misdeeds, a whore catering to specific sexual fetishes. How wrong they are. Some even go as far to suggest he's following her for those reasons. He takes note of them and where they live. They won't make assumptions like that again.

They reach the crack house, small, unkempt, not even a house, but a shack. It reeks of all kids of misdeeds. She squeezes in through two of the bars keeping the open window from the rest of the world, and opens the fire door for him. They make their way through the house, needles crushing beneath their shoes, eventually coming across a man so drugged up he can barely speak. He's quick to throw him against the wall, demanding information on the girl. Where is she? Is she alive? Where is she? The man stumbles over his words, delirious from fear and years of drug usage.

And then, a scream. He looks around, she's gone. He quickly tosses the man to the floor like the trash he is and runs into the door the scream came from, bolting down the stairs to find her, preparing to fight whatever criminals are congregating down there.

When he sees it, he realises why she's terrified.

The body of Sienna Buchanan, barely recognisable. Tied to a bed by her limbs, although her left arm is barely even attached. She's not even on the bed itself, she's suspended off the bed just enough for her opened insides to cascade over the rest of her. A part of her spine is visible, the flesh around it carved away, and her mouth is completely missing. The fact she has been raped is not made secret, the blood giving away enough to tell a story of days of brutal assault. Her eyes are wide open, and although long dead he can still see the utter terror in them, frozen there as if god used them to freeze a moment of her torture in time forever.

Blood is everywhere, the sheets of the bed stained in blood so their original colour will forever be a mystery. It's poured onto the floor, and there is even a bottle of it on a nearby tool desk, which is covered in all sorts of bloody implements he doesn't care to look at.

She's in the corner, hysterical, gagging between sobs. He takes a handsaw from the wall and quickly tries to cut the body down, trying to ignore the disgusting sounds coming from his psychologically weakened ally. Just as he frees the left leg, three men charge down the stairway, immediately making a beeline for her. She's cornered, and gives a grunt as one lands a punch to her stomach. He drops the saw and runs to them, quickly smashing the attacker's head against the wall. He grabs a hammer from nearby, taking it to the second man's temple. The third man backs away, knowing he's over his head, but he shows no mercy, using this influx of time to beat him to death, using his fists to turn the man's face into a bloody sponge of bone and flesh before cracking his skull against the floor.

He frees the body, taking a clean sheet from the clothes dryer and placing it over her body. He takes a final look into those eyes and then closes them, pulling the rest of the sheet over her head to leave her rest.

By now, she's stopped sobbing and is in the corner, shaking her head in disbelief. For a few moments he thinks she might recover quickly, she even helps him drag the bodies into the front yard and tie them to the fence. But it's the journey back that makes him realise it's broken her completely.

"Subway's shorter." He says as they come to a station. "You can still take it. Clothes are clean. Don't have to walk."

She says nothing. Doesn't even acknowledge him as he speaks, and continues walking. It begins to rain again, and while he pulls up his coat's collar, she doesn't even touch her hood, quickly becoming drenched as the rain gets heavier.

He goes as far as to go with her to her window, all without a word. She climbs in the window, rips the mask off her face and tosses it to the floor. Now she reaches for a cigarette, not even bothering to go near the window as she usually does, disregarding her own 'no smoking inside' rule.

He shuts the window, turning around and lifting his collar again. He knows she can't do this. He'll be back tomorrow to tell her she's on her own. He doubts she'll want to do this anymore.

--

It's May 28th, at 1AM.

He's in her apartment, but there's no signs of life. He knows something's wrong. The music isn't on, not even at the low volume she leaves it on when she's out. The lights are off, the heating's off, there isn't even a note.

He exits through the window, onto the fire escape, trying to recall places she might be. It's then he hears it – it's quiet, but followed by a cough. Someone is on the roof, in the rain, crying. There's only one person he knows who's illogical enough to do something like that.

Sure enough, she's there. Sitting on the edge of the roof level, ignoring the cheap deck chairs set out by the landlady in an attempt to give it some class. In one hand she has an umbrella, in the other a cigarette. He approaches hesitantly.

"What do you want?" she asks, taking a deep drag, not turning to him. "To tell me I'm not cut out for it anymore? That it's over? Well don't bother. I quit."

"Was looking for you in apartment," he says, ignoring her completely. "You weren't there. Heard crying coming from roof. Only person I know who'd risk catching phenomena."

"Who cares?" she laughed. "Better than rape."

"That girl-"

"That girl, Rorschach," she interrupts "is someone I will never, ever be able to stop seeing."

"Have to move on. Just one in many."

"Just one in many?" She snaps, shaking her head, putting out her cigarettes and standing up on the edge.

"You don't understand…"


	10. May 28th to May 29th

**I'm alive! I swear! I'm so sorry for taking so long, and this chapter is a little bit lacking, I know. Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry! School and work have been less than forgiving and I have a lot of things on my plate at the moment. **

**Thanks to KatsWords141, as usual. If you haven't read _Famous Last Words_ yet, do it! At the time of this writing there's only one more chapter to go, and I am downright _dying_ to read it. You should be, too. If you aren't, then you're a communist. Also, thanks to everyone who's added this to their favourites, alerts and such. Means a lot!  
**

**Anyway, on to the story!**

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_Rorschach's Journal, May 28__th__: Feel stupid. Did stupid thing tonight. Not happy. Should have let her die, let her jump off the building and land on the pavement, a death on the streets like the rest of the scum she reminds me of. Didn't. Grabbed her, pulled her away from death she deserves like idiot. Feel too much sympathy for her._

_She was drunk, wanted to kill herself. Give up, quit. Something happened. Can't say what, maybe a part of her died. Said she'd never forget the girl from last night. Was too much for her. She was upset, then angry, and then something else I can't describe. As if all emotions ran together and opened metaphorical window for moment of logic. Voice was different, new sound to it. Said she was sorry._

_Gave her final chance. Stupid idea. She's reached for a bottle to comfort her, she'll do it again, like Moth Man, and half the other washed-up ex heroes. Not sure if I'll find her in suitable condition tomorrow, hardly expect to find her in state of sobriety. Want her to surprise me, it disgusts me. _

_Left her on roof like the soggy, used-up whore she is. Visited Blair Roche's burial. Similarities are uncomforting. _

--

May 28th:

I feel so fucking sick. I just want to crawl into a hole and die.

I went to buy a paper… and then I walked past the discount liquor store and got the cheapest bottle of Vodka… and I came home and I thought 'Oh, okay, I'll just have a few, get tipsy and it'll help me sleep, yeah?'

I was so wrong. I drank way too much. I'm a light drinker, why did I pick Vodka of all things? I don't even like vodka… anyway, I ended up just throwing on some clothes, judging by what I woke up in it was one of my summer dresses, and then heading out onto the roof. I think I wanted to watch the people, it was raining, there weren't many.

Things are a bit fuzzy. No, very fuzzy. Rorschach was there, I know that much. The minute I thought of that fucking shifting face of his a lot of it came back. I nearly jumped. He saved me, I can remember that. Oh, and I said the fucking stupidest thing, I was like 'Oh you're so romantic' or something. What the fuck? What the fuck was going through my head?

I remember he said he'd give me a second chance. To be honest I don't want to go at all, I want to stay home, eat things and then vomit them back up like I usually do when I'm hung over like this. But I have to. I can't let him down. He might not understand why I'm so upset, I doubt he did, he's far tougher than I am… but, well, I hate to say this, I hate to even think of him as this, but… he's my only friend. Well, the only one I truly think of like that, there's that woman from my old job, the one who put pictures of cats all over her cubicle and wore clothes far too small for her and had a silly perm… but I don't think I could put up with her for more than a few hours. I hate to admit it, but sometimes when I come home, I don't want him to go. He's the most interesting person I have met in this city. Probably because he's the most honest, actually.

Anyway, I have to go. No ifs, no buts. I have to prove to him I can do this… and after seeing that little girl… the police didn't help her, god didn't help her… maybe we're the only people who are doing anything.

I had a message on my machine today. From my mother, of course, begging me to call her. I'll do it tomorrow night. Sounded important, but somewhat like gossip, as usual. Probably something about one of her nurses again.

I'm going to go puke now. I'm getting ready in two hours so until then I have a date with sweet lady porcelain.

--

_Rorschach's Journal, May 29__th__: Impressed. Very impressed and surprised. Was ready when I arrived, look on face and discolour of skin suggested she's feeling ill. Was correct in my assumptions, she vomited after jumping off the grating in a vein attempt to express how well she was feeling. Not a good liar. Can't let her be arrested._

_There's talk of a gang war, paid a visit to Happy Harry's. Delinquents did not take well to our joined presence. Lewd gestures were made at her before one tried to get physical. Big mistake. Snapped jaw before I could get to him. Even those who have dealt with her previously underestimate her speed. Felt sense of pride._

_Dislocated an elbow to get what information I needed. Found out where one of the gangs is based. Will visit them tomorrow, have drugs, money and weapons to confiscate. As we left bar, watched her smash glass over attempted-sexual-deviant's head so casually it could have been rehearsed. No hesitation like before. Something's changed._

_Attempted mugging, stopped assailant, she seemed more concerned with helping victim than punishing wrongdoing. Thought she'd gone back to old ways until she noticed his pants were undone. Took control completely. Never seen woman so passionately angry before. Had weird feelings. Didn't like them. Watched as she shattered skull against brick wall of alley, forgot about woman, left her to run screaming. Took assailants own knife, stabbed him repeatedly, had to restrain her, worried she'd leave nothing left. Frightening, uncomforting, but perfect picture of world. Not even the supposedly gentle creatures like women are safe from man's own corrupt doings, from the whore dealing cocaine to the woman murdering the buyer. _

_On way home, whore insulted her, called her ugly. Doubt whore knows what gave her brain damage, I'll always know it was the woman she'd just insulted, brandishing little, green, glass bottle of Cola. Covered in blood and whore's hair, she kept it anyway. Said those bottles are hard to come by these days. _

_Escorted her home, felt sick sense of obligation, also wanted to make sure she's not harbouring illegal substances that would have caused aggression. Allowed search of apartment without argument, found nothing, confiscated bottle of whisky as precaution. _

_Went home, took off face. Music was up again. Suspicious as to how she can sleep with noise. Must investigate further._

--

May 29th:

Holy crap. Last night was amazing.

Rorschach came and took me out. He said he was taking me to some bar so that everyone would know we have an alliance going. Some guy kept calling me sweet-cheeks, he said I should 'ditch the stinky masked guy and dish out some justice with him.' So gross I just sort of laughed. Then he grabbed my ass. I snapped his jaw. I didn't really think about it, actually, but it was a great feeling. I'm not sure if Rorschach saw it, I hope he did.

Anyway, he broke a guy's elbow for information about a gang war, then as we left the same guy called me a bitch. I broke a bottle over his head, why not, right? I already broke his face. I'm pretty sure Rorschach saw that one. I don't mean to brag, but I was pretty awesome. I 'demanded respect' as some would say. Hahah.

We patrolled after that. I didn't really talk much, after the whole rooftop incident I'm skating on thin ice as it is. We found a guy mugging a girl. I was helping her when I noticed he'd taken off his belt. He was going to rape her, fucking asshole. So I killed him. I just fucking did it. And it was great. He won't be able to rape anyone else now, the courts would have given him a few years, if anything, and then he'd be back to do it all over again. Nope, not now. He's gone for good. I think Rorschach got a little angry at me though. He pulled me off. I got carried away. Embarrassing… but I guess it's better than like, not killing him at all and bitching at Rorschach for killing him.

It could have been worse. Maybe he was just 'unimpressed' by my lack of anger management. I was getting coke from a vending machine when a prostitute called me ugly. Who the fuck is she to call _me_ ugly of all people? She's a fucking whore! I lost it again. I think it was the adrenaline by then that made me beat her in the head with the bottle. I kept it, though. I haven't seen these kinds of bottles in ages. I think they stopped making them.

He followed me home, then searched the place. I don't know what for, but I don't really care anymore. No use fighting him about it, he'll just do it anyway.

Ended up so tired that I passed out. Fuck turning anything off.


	11. June 3rd: A Birthday, A Meeting, A Gift

**Okay, see this chapter? This is what happens when you have insomnia. You get chapters _this_ long.  
Anyway, I _swear_ this is going somewhere. Honest to god. Just bear with me. **

**And no, what you think will happen probably won't happen.**

**Ugh, I'm going to go and try sleeping now.**

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It's the third of June 1984. They're walking down one of the many red light districts.

"So…" she sighs. He wants to give a groan, anything to show his displeasure at this. It's been a quiet night from her so far; he's been enjoying it. Every time she opens her mouth it confuses him or brings up a moral question.

"It's my birthday today. June third…"

He glances at a clock in one of the store's windows, it's passed midnight and he hasn't noticed. Great, what does she want now? He's not sure why she's brought this up. Does she want something? What the hell does she want, then? He's not exactly one to walk into the florist and buy her roses, or anything, for that matter.

"I don't want anything." She laughs, turning her head to him and laughing a little under her breath. How did she know what he was thinking? She takes a packet of cigarettes out of her pocket, removing one and placing the carton back.

"I mean, not that I think you'd get me anything or even care…" she stutters, before lighting the cigarette and taking a drag. "I just thought you'd like to know why I won't be coming out tonight."

He turns his head to her, his face shifting and causing her to step away just a little. "Night off for birthday?" he asks, more disgust in his voice as usual.

"No… well… not willingly…" she laughs. "My mother set up a business thing… I have to go."

"Say no."

"Can't. There's a lot of money in it… and it's something to do with Adrian Veidt's company, so I'd better go."

"Hurm. Not sure I like idea of Veidt utilizing non-Newtonian fabrics and Manhattan-spin-off materials. Suspicious."

"It's just for clothes." She sighs. "From the briefings my mother sent me, Veidt's investing because he's interested in seeing what can be done with them… apparently they can only be sewn certain ways and have to be exposed to certain temperatures in order to become resistant to certain things… anyway, way too complicated for me to fully understand, but I think he gets a certain amount of the profits, so it's like he's funding my mother's research and investing in a new line."

There's a silence while he lets it mull over. It's suspicious, but she's probably right about it being nothing more than Veidt playing dress up on a larger scale. "Can't come out after?"

"Probably." She shrugs. "Mom says it's just a meeting with his head of research, so dinner, drinks and the business end of it shouldn't take longer than a few hours."

"What restaurant?"

She pauses and gives him a side-glance. "Uh… Lilium. Why does that matter?"

"Too fancy for just business meeting." He says, recalling the area, a well-off one he rarely needed to visit.

"Hey, don't look at me. Mom made the reservations."

"Suspicious."

"It's my mom. She has a twisted sense of reality. Why so suspicious about it? It's just a restaurant."

There's the sound of smashing glass, followed by a siren. A liquor store is being robbed.

Trouble finds them with more ease than he'd like. That's what he's suspicious about.

--

It's 7.30 PM on the third of June 1984. The waiter leans down to speak to her in a hushed voice.

"Ma'am, we're sorry to disturb you, but your gentlemen friend requested a seating change on his arrival…"

"Oh, god," she says quietly, putting her fingers to the bridge of her nose and taking a deep breath. "I'm not late, am I? Because I swear I was told to be here at seven-thirty."

"No, Ma'am, he actually arrived early. If you'll follow me."

She stands up, taking the small folder and her handbag and following the waiter, around to the other side of the bar and up a tiny flight of stairs. She notices a sign up the top: 'VIP Area.' She raises an eyebrow as they pass it, why would they go from a normal table to the VIP area? She didn't think that head researchers had such influence…

And then her eyes settle as the waiter leads her through the tables, and her stomach drops. She nearly stops moving all together, but she's so petrified she can't even think for a moment.

"Mom… you fucking _whore_…" she whispers, so very quietly she can barely hear herself.

"Mr Veidt, I apologise again that the seating arrangements were not up to-"

"Don't apologise," he says, standing up and smiling at her. "It was entirely my decision. Thankyou."

The waiter nods and turns, walking away and leaving the two alone to her dismay. He extends his hand to hers.

"I apologise for the last minute alteration, however, I found the downstairs area to be a little loud for my liking. Miss Sutherland, I assume? Adrian Veidt."

They shake hands, she's been told she has a firm handshake, but his is tight enough to break stone. All of a sudden, everything she's been doing at nightfall comes to her.

_Fuck._

"Please, take a seat." He says, their handshake finished as he gestures to the plush seat across from him. She swallows nervously, nodding and taking her seat, placing the folder leaning against her handbag by the legs of the chair.

"I… uh… wasn't told I'd be meeting with _you_, Mr Veidt…" she says nervously, shifting around in her seat slightly.

"Well, I was planning to send an assistant instead, but your mother insisted we meet. She speaks very highly of you." His accent alone is making her nervous. It's too hard for her to read the tones of his voice.

"Yes… she tends to be very enthusiastic."

"I've noticed. Her enthusiasm, however, is something I find quite admirable. She's quite a saleswoman."

"Yeah, that's my mom, alright." She looks around as she says this, trying to play down how enraged with her mother she is. The VIP floor is empty except for them.

"How long have you been in the US?" he asks. Her mother must have told him everything, this does not bode well.

"Uh, I officially moved back when I was 18… but you know, I've been going back and forth ever since, I've got to visit my mom, after all."

"So you went to college?" he asks. His questions are already tiring her. She wonders if this is how it makes Rorschach feel.

"Uh, yeah, Wellesley."

"And you studied…?"

"Economics and political science…"

"Interesting indeed. How does someone with those qualifications find themselves un-employed?"

She smiles, eyeing the waiter who is approaching them. "Just un-lucky, I guess."

--

It's 9.00 pm.

The folder sits on his side of the table now, they've been through it. Her mother's ideas sat well with him, she's positive he'll put more money in than he first said he would. They're now talking about the new Indiana Jones movie.

"Well I don't care how fake that heart looked," she laughs, taking a sip from her martini glass. "It scared the hell out of me, to be frank. I'm never going to India…"

He chuckles. "I've been to India, and I can assure you it's nothing like that. It's a lovely country."

"Not what I've heard. Mom told me she had to go to Dubai to look at fabrics once, she said it was dirty and poor and full of crime…"

"You mean like the lower-class areas of New York?"

She crosses her arms. "Hey, I happen to live in a less than desirable area, thankyou."

"Hmm, yes, your mother mentioned that…"

"Look, it's a roof, and it's safe."

His eyes have shifted to a waitress and a waiter at the bar now, gossiping quietly.

"Anyway," The waiter says. "My sister _swears_ she was saved by him!"

The waitress scoffs as she washes a glass. "Bullshit!"

"No way! Would I lie to you? She was telling me she was walking home from her job when all of a sudden some guy pulls her into an ally way. Anyway, so she thinks she's a goner, right? And them _bam!_ Rorschach out of fucking nowhere!"

Veidt raises an eyebrow and eyes her. She smiles to show she's as interested in their conversation as he is. The waitress rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, Frankie, and I bet after that they ran off into the sunset together."

"Well that's what's even weirder!" he begins, "He was with a woman."

Veidt's eyebrow rises, he's surprised. She mustn't have been big news yet. The waitress laughs.

"A woman?"

"Yeah! Clair was sobbing on the ground and this chick in a mask picks her up, and she's helping, she's all like 'are you okay? Is there someone you can call? Are you hurt?' And then all of a sudden she just went nuts. Like insane, she just goes at the guy and starts bashing his brains in against the wall, and then she -"

"Frankie, stop it, it's making me feel sick!"

"Aww, come on baby, I'll hold your hair back…"

The discussion turns into nothing but flirtatious drabble, she turns her attention back to Veidt.

"Rorschach, huh?" she asks, twirling the toothpick in her glass around.

"Hmm, yes… curious."

"Hmm?" she tilts her head to the side. "What's so 'curious' about him?"

"Rorschach working with a female, I mean. I didn't know him as well as others, but I gathered he was less than partial to women…"

"Oh yeah, you worked with him for a while, didn't you? I forgot you were a mask for a second."

"A mask?" he asks, she pauses and her stomach drops. Has she come across some sort of vigilante lingo that she shouldn't know?

"A masked vigilante, I mean. Sorry, I've gotten into a habit of abbreviating things I shouldn't." Nice save.

"Well, yes, I suppose you could say we worked together. It wasn't for very long, though. Usually he worked with Nite Owl. Something tells me he wouldn't take too well to my current ventures."

She has to agree with him there, but she can't. She can't give away how much she knows. "So he's… not a fan of the toy line, then?"

"I highly doubt it. I think he, like many others, would fail to understand that the money is being used for bigger things."

"Like?"

"Well, working with your mother's research, for one. If we can fully understand how the fabrics work, we can move on to using them to assist people in dangerous lines of works. We're also working on a totally clean source of energy with the aid of Dr Manhattan."

"Dr Manhattan?" she asks, running her fingers around the edge of her glass. "Wow… I uh, wrote a thesis on him in college." She bites her lip, she has to ask. "I uh… came across some things in a reporter's notes. Is it true he uh… gets around in the buff a lot?"

He stares at her for a moment, making her think that she's just put her foot in her mouth. However, he smiles, his teeth so perfect that she wants to shield her eyes. What a pretty boy.

"Yes. He has a definite aversion to pants."

She can't help it. The way he puts it so eloquently is enough to set her into a fit of laughter.

--

It's 10 pm. She enters her apartment and throws her bag on the floor, frustrated at how late it is. She's had one too many drinks and the high heels have left her feet feeling as if they're on fire. She's positive she has a blister on the back of her left heel. She looks at the business card in her hand. She has an appointment on June 5th at lunchtime. She hopes Veidt will send his assistant.

"Welcome home."

She looks up from the card. Rorschach is at the table, eating a sandwich. She steps back, her spine pressing against the doorway. Seeing any of his face makes her uneasy.

"Uh, Rorschach… wasn't I supposed to meet you?"

"Quiet tonight. Boring without you."

"Oh, well uh… thanks?"

Hesitantly, she picks up her bag, placing it on the counter. "So… how long have you been here?"

"An hour." He lies to her. "Didn't expect you'd be out so long."

"I didn't expect I'd have dinner with Adrian Veidt, either."

"Veidt was there?" he asks, his voice as surprised as she thinks it can get.

"Mom's a crafty one." She shrugs. "You were right about him. He's _really_ pretentious, not sure if he means to be, but there were definitely points where I wanted to punch him. Nice enough, though. Speaking of which, how do you feel about the Watchmen toy line?"

He tilts his head from side to side, cracking his neck a little. The only response she gets is his usual, unimpressed 'Hurm.'

"Didn't think so… so, what's the plan for tonight. We hitting up Happy Harry's again?"

"Came to tell you you're staying here."

She pauses, pivoting on her feet with her hand on her hip. "Sorry?"

"Staying here. Have night off." He says, taking his hat off the table and putting it on, before standing up and heading for her window.

"I'm sorry, Rorschach, but… why?"

He stops as he's half way out her window. "Happy Birthday." He growls, not turning to look at her, before leaving into the night for good.


	12. May 30th to June 1st

**I'm back! Sorry I've been so slow recently... but I'm unwell at the moment. The flu seems to be going around, not swine flu, though. I'm also buckled down with exams and such. abduaibfhj Oh well. Here's another chapter for you! Filled with all the paranoia and mental instabilities we love...**

**Oh! And Katswords141, thankyou again and again for all the support. I'm going to keep pestering you for a new story, miss. :)**

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_Rorschach's Journal, May 30__th__: Something wrong. Something wrong with me. Kept thinking about her all day, thinking about the whore in the mask like she's different. She's not. Losing focus. Must continue to guard self. Can't loose sight of important things, things the whore might not want me to see, possibly covering for her screeching sisters, can deal drugs to children with more ease if I'm distracted._

_Went to her apartment. She was ready, waiting. She's always waiting, staring at me with those eyes like an alley cat, waiting for me to show the slightest weakness so she can pounce. _

_Busted a drug deal tonight. She took down two. Did the rest myself. Tried to pretend she wasn't there. Spoke to me on way home. Asked if I had any questions. Don't. Know everything I need to already, know her kind. She killed one with a coke bottle._

_--_

May 30th:

I think I've overstayed my welcome. I was getting this vibe from him tonight. He didn't talk to me at all. He wouldn't. He barely even helped when we were taking down some topknots. I think he's cracked it with me, really. I don't know…

Sometimes I wish I knew more about him, so I could tell what was going on at times like this, why he thinks the way he does or why he distrusts me. But I don't, and I'm not going to ask because he'll never tell me. I'm going to have to play this day by day, I guess. It's all I can do.

I'll call Mom tonight, she'll be angry for not doing it sooner, but I might as well try and cheer myself up a little before an entire night of silence.

--

_Rorschach's Journal, June 1__st__: Highly contemplated cutting ties with masked whore today. Decided against it when I heard topknots talking about her. They know, they know there are two of us and they're not open to idea, makes them edgy, keeps some them hiding in basements. Still don't have proper name for her, they're unsure if she's here permanently._

_Working with her has benefits I didn't think of. Whores used to think they'd get mercy because they have the physical appearance of a woman. Don't anymore. They may think I'll hold back, but she has no reason to, gives them new reason to be afraid. _

_Went to her apartment, was on phone to mother. Mother has meddling ways, frustrates her. Are all women like this? Are they all genetically programmed to make life even more difficult? Mother seems determined to marry her off, she seems adamant to remain alone. Does mother not know of issues with men, or is she in state of denial that only child will never lead idyllic lifestyle portrayed in women's magazines and romance novels? Her lack of empathy for mother's wishes gave me feelings of admiration. Hate them. Don't understand them. Don't want to._

_Noticed she's chain smoking. Broke a pimp's leg for information on gang war before putting her in coma, cigarette in mouth entire time. Reminded me of the second Silk Spectre, would always light up after fighting crime in underwear, as if trying to give herself class. Apartment now reeks of it, not just scent like before. Stress taking toll? Maybe. How long do I have until she burns out?_

_--_

June 1st:

Called Mom tonight. I can't believe that woman. She's got a business deal with Adrian Veidt in the works, apparently he's interested in the work she's doing with Manhattan's non-Newtonian fabrics. Okay, good enough, right? So what does she do? She gives him _my_ number and tells him I'll work as a correspondent! I'm not stupid, she even told me she's trying to set us up.

I mean, me, with Adrian Veidt? Okay, and while we're at it, I'll get Rorschach to dress in a fucking tutu and dance the Nutcracker at our wedding reception. Jesus Christ, what was that woman thinking? It's got to be the cancer, because illness is the only reason someone could do something this stupid.

I'll have to do it anyway, though. It's a lot of money and I could use the extra I'll gain from it. Rorschach stood up for her, actually fucking stood up for her. He said it was because she cared, obviously he doesn't know how obsessive my mother is.

I have to call her tomorrow, see when this business meeting is. Hopefully I can just push through it, nothing should come from it, anyway. He sends off my gaydar for some reason. And I just remembered it's my birthday in two days. Wonder if mom will even remember?

--

_Rorschach's Journal, June 2__nd__: City was quiet tonight. Not in a good way. Something's happening, something big. There are plans; I can hear them through the rats and the loud rap music in the crack dens. Told me it's her birthday today, won't be coming out, has business meeting with Veidt's research assistant set up by mother. Restaurant too upmarket for simple business meeting, find it suspicious, although have come to terms with the instabilities of mother._

_Found ourselves surrounded by 30 topknots, suspicious. Not problem, but suspicious that so many would be waiting for us. Knew we were coming, all armed. Focus seemed to be on her, smaller group kept me distracted, she managed to cope with 20, but struggled. Received bullet wound back of right shoulder while tossing her steel pipe. Was good move to make, she's quick with blunt objects. Made sure to leave one alive, want whoever sent them to know I won't compromise. Can't die, but sill have to assist partner no matter how it may clash with personal ethics. Minute she followed me into Happy Harries, became responsibility, although sense of pride makes me want to retract thought._

_Insisted I follow her home, wanted to check wound. Complied, purely out of desire to get her to stop talking. Voice grinds on me sometimes. Irritating. Not a medical professional, but knew enough to remove bullet and suture wound. Keeps thing sterile, confident there'll be no complications or infections. Don't like going to free clinic. Try to help, offer help through Jesus and counselling. Seem to forget Jesus doesn't stop people from finding themselves in need of free medical attention. Her maternal instincts uncomforting, although left me somewhat content despite physical contact. Don't like her skin touching mine. Must avoid injuries. _

_--_

June 2nd:

Mom's such a bitch. She made the booking for tomorrow night. I had to tell Rorschach I wouldn't be coming out until later; he seemed to be okay with it. He was suspicious, but I've come to accept he'll always be a little paranoid about me. I'm not looking forward to it; I'd rather be out, to be honest, so I told him I'd meet him somewhere after. The whole thing should only take a few hours, if that. I can probably weasel my way out of even having dinner.

We got attacked by a crazy amount of thugs. They ganged up on me when Rorschach had his hands full, unfair assholes. Must think because I'm a female that I'm weaker. Silly people. Rorschach was tossing me something to hit them with and someone shot him. Who the fuck brings a gun to a brawl? And who the fuck shoots Rorschach? Anyway, I was _so_ angry. I absolutely pummelled the shit out of him. Pretty sure his brain was liquid.

Rorschach is amazing. Have I ever written that? Guy had a fucking bullet in his shoulder and he still managed to kick ass, and then he wanted to go without letting me even look at it. Well… okay, maybe that wasn't toughness, maybe that was because he has little to no trust of me. But anyway, I pretty much made him. I might have nagged him a _little_…

Anyway, got him home. The bullet wasn't in too far, and I learnt in a first aid class my old job made us take how to take care of a minor bullet wound. I've heard having a bullet removed is really painful, so if that's true, Rorschach didn't let me down. He didn't even make a noise. Oh, he grunted when I touched him at first. Maybe it was just sore or something and he got a shock? Who cares? Guy's tough as rusty nails.

I still wish I knew more about him, though. Although… maybe it's better that I don't.


	13. June 7th And Onwards: A Mistake Is Made

**Well here's another chapter. Very, _very_ long, mind you. I apologise, but as I usually say, it's going somewhere. Honest. I _swear!_**

**Also, sidenote, but okay, as I was uploading this my brother turned on 'Semi Pro,' and I had no idea at all that JEH was in it! He came on and I completely lost it. It's so weird seeing a guy who played a paedophile AND Rorschach scream "I'M A MIRACLE" and then try to cash a giant novelty check. Blind sighted me, 110%.**

**ALSO! Katswords141 has a sequel to _Famous Last Words_ out if you haven't checked it out already. Go and fucking read it! DO IT!  
**

**Anyway, I'll stop babbling now because long chapter is long.**

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It's June 7th, she circles an ad in the paper.

_Dancers Wanted._

Staring at the bold writing she feels sick to her stomach.

_Dancers Wanted._

Her mother is dead. She died two nights ago, she only was told yesterday. She doesn't have the money to fly to her funeral, now that her mother's money has been seized due to legal complications in the will she can't even make rent this month. She knew knocking back Veidt's offer didn't sit right. She shakes her head and wipes a tear. No one else is hiring PR workers, her rent is due in two weeks, and she's spent all her money on food and medical supplies and cigarettes.

But she can't go back to Veidt's. Not now. Not after walking out on him so rudely, and her pride would never allow her to. And now she's going to apply for a job in a strip club. _'What a fucked up sense of pride.'_ She thinks to herself, grabbing her bag.

She takes a post-it note, writing a quick note for Rorschach should she be out later than expected, or, more likely, if he shows up early. She has to be careful with what she says, she knows even the concept of this to him is utterly unforgivable. She values his friendship, as possessive, insensitive and belittling as he can be, what they have is all she's got now.

She pulls her hat on and turns up her music, before slinging her handbag over her shoulder and leaving her apartment. She doesn't want to go where she's about to, but she has no choice. _'Just until the money comes through or I can get a better job.'_ She tells herself, trying to make herself feel better.

The redhead man is leaving his apartment, his sign over his shoulder as usual. She tries to avoid making any contact with him.

"Where you off to?" he asks her, his eyes staring at her with an intensity that left her uncomfortable. Why did he care?

"None of your fucking business." She snaps, crossing her arms and quickly making her way past.

"Music's too loud." He says.

"Fuck off!" she calls as she quickly makes her way down the steps. She doesn't want him to have even an idea of where she's going; she wants to be out of sight before he can follow her.

She makes her way onto the street, off to the red light district. Rorschach is right, even in the daylight the slums are filled with crime and dirt. On the subway a homeless man, drunk at 1 in the afternoon, propositions her. A police officer enters the carriage, the homeless man leaves. She's tempted to follow him and put that bottle of cheap wine somewhere unpleasant, but she doesn't. Rorschach is rubbing off on her; she wouldn't have even considered that a month ago.

She arrives at the club, _The Red Pony._ Even in the daylight, the neon lighting stings her eyes, she can hear it buzzing. It needs to be fixed, some of the letters are flashing irregularly.

She enters the doorway, pushing beads out of the way. It stinks like alcohol and smoke, and the music is loud and obnoxious. The ceiling, walls and floor are all covered in the same material, black tiles, some of them missing as she walked by. At the entry she explains why she's there to the security guard. He sends her in the direction of the owner.

The owner is sitting at a table, the plush leather upholstery of the booth straining underneath him. He's obese, bald, and has a mole on the very tip of his nose. He furrows his brow at her, looking her up and down while his fat fingers pull the cigar from his mouth. He reminds her of the first man she killed. She already dislikes him.

"So…" he begins. "You ever danced before?" his Brooklyn accent asks her.

"I've been dancing professionally since I was about 15."

"So uh, you wanted to go on Broadway or what?"

She smiles, eying one of the day time dancers, gyrating against the pole and snatching up any cash that was thrown at her in desperation. "No… it kept me fit…"

"You can say that again!" He laughs, running his eyes over her again. "Not half bad, you know. Usually we get chicks covered in meth-scars."

"Uh… well… I'm clean."

"Exactly." He says, leaning back. "And that makes me suspicious. What brings a clean, sophisticated girl like you to something like this? Isn't there a restaurant that needs a waitress or something?"

She can't help but smile a little. Sophisticated is hardly a word she'd use around here. "I need a big sum of money fast. I'm behind on rent. I don't have anywhere else to go."

He shrugs, nodding and causing ash to fall from the end of his cigar. "Fair enough, then. Look, I like you. I like you a lot. You're fit, you're clean, seems like you got half a decent head on your shoulders, and you got big hips."

"Big hips?" she asks. That's a good thing?

"Good strippers got curves. The blacks and Mexicans _love_ girls with a decent ass. Right now all we got is… uh…" he gestures to the girl on stage. She has a boyish figure, and you can see her ribs. "You can see the problem. Anyway, and there's something classy about you, for a stripper, anyway. I can't picture you making any back door deals and getting the place raided."

She makes a small, singular chuckle. She may not cause the place to be raided, but if Rorschach finds out…

She pauses. What if he does? What if without the mask he comes into places like this? She knows he has issues with women, but that doesn't mean he doesn't like to watch…

"I have one condition, though." She begins. He raises an eyebrow.

"That is…?"

"I wear a mask. Not like, all over my face, just one to hide my eyes."

He furrows his brow, taking in some of the cigar and then exhaling, before he nods.

"A mask… yeah, yeah! I like it! No, I _love_ it!" he roars, causing even the girl on stage to glance at him. "You, miss, are gonna be our star!"

"…What?"

"You're gonna be our gimmick! The Diamond Kiss across the street has a girl who dances in a giant martini glass, so we'll have our own Silk Spectre!"

"I'm sorry, I don't follow." She didn't like the idea of this all together, so needless to say, she hated the idea of having even more attention on herself.

"Look, my wife, she can sew, she does most of the costumes here. You get dressed up as Sally Jupiter, we'll stick you in a wig, throw on some old fashioned music and you do your thing. We can watch the tips roll on in!"

"Oh…" she sighs. "Look… uh…"

"I'll get my wife started on the costume tonight, and we'll do a test-run tomorrow so you can test the waters out. After that I'll pay you $100 a show, plus 10% of tips. What do you say?"

Her jaw drops. $100 a show, that would cover her rent and food easily. She digs her nails into her palms, biting her lip as she looks around.

"Uh… okay. Sounds good?"

"Fantastic!" he roars, clapping his flabby hands together.

Her heart begins to pump at the thought of getting caught. "Uh… so what's security like here?" she asks.

"Oh, don't you worry, doll, we look after our girls here… well, the ones that stick around and don't attract cops, anyway. You drive or…?"

"I take the subway…"

"Well, we'll have one of our guys walk you to the station. I'd be lying if I said we didn't get our share of weirdos."

She smiles. She doubts she'd need the help, but the consideration surprises her. The man leans in.

"Now uh… you got any kids or anything? Because the wife loves looking after the girl's little ones, never had any of her own, you see? Something wrong with the uh… plumbing."

She laughs. "Oh, me? No, no, no. But uh…" she smiles. "Thanks for the offer, anyway."

He nods, grabbing a note pad and scribbling on it. "So uh, your name?"

"Oh, it's uh, Geni-"

"Not your _real_ name!" he laughs. "We don't use the girls real names, we all got lives outside of here."

"Oh… uh… well… what should I be called, then?" she asks.

He pauses, thinking hard. "Well, you're gonna be our own Sally Jupiter, yeah? So… something close…"

"Sally Saturn?"

He smiles, nodding. "Like it…" he writes on his paper. "So, come in at one tomorrow, wife should have something made up by then, we'll give you a test run… I won't be paying you, but I'll let you keep the tips, yeah? Here," he begins, tossing her a tape measure from some sort of kit they've set up for new employees. "Take your measurements."

She takes her measurements, feeling extremely uncomfortable and trying to take comfort in the idea of all the money she'd have, and how kind this man was being to her. She hands him the paper with her measurements, shakes his hand and leaves, keeping her eyes down.

She takes the subway home, horrified that Rorschach may have seen her leaving. But he's there when she gets home, waiting. He quizzes her about her whereabouts, she says she was job hunting and that's all. He seems to accept it, and they go out.

--

The boss' wife quickly cuts off the last thread, making the final adjustments to the yellow garment. She's been informed she won't have to be naked; the corset underneath is a separate panel, detachable from the bra and panties. It still frightens her, though. The boots they have her wearing are a challenge to walk in, according to the box the heels are six inches, and the platforms make her considerably taller. How Silk Spectre could fight crime in anything like this is beyond her.

The wig is uncomfortable, however, she can't help but find it appealing, the wig having a shine and radiance to it hers never had. The boss' wife adds the final pins, she's much friendlier than she would have expected, although she can tell she was once an 'exotic dancer' as she refers to them. She wonders how terrible business here must be for them to be so exited about someone to average and un-experienced.

And then she hears the music, a classic striptease song from the 1950's. Maybe they'll let her bring her own music in…

She steps out onto the stage. There are few people. Two or three men on their own, drunk, no doubt alcoholics. A few business man, swapping cards and bragging about cigars and restaurant reservations, and a woman, her collar up high, probably avoiding recognition. She steps into the light, all eyes are on her.

She has more of an aptitude for this than she thought, although she highly doubts it's anything at all to be proud of in the slightest. Within forty seconds, all eyes are on her, the alcoholics are swaggering and holding their heads up, the business men have looked up from their cards and the woman has stopped fidgeting with her collar.

She moves to the music, the shoes pivoting effortlessly on the shiny surface of the stage, it's easier than she expected. She starts by removing a glove, and finishes when the middle panel of the corset comes off. At the end of the song she counts the notes that have been stuffed in the top of her boots, just below the knee. $55. That will buy her dinner tonight. She's low on bread.

--

He makes his way through the alley, the rain pummelling on his hat and down the back of his coat. It's as if things are the way they used to be, her new job keeps her off the streets and out of his head. It's only been three nights, but he's enjoying the returning routine.

The red lights shimmer in the puddles on the ground, the loud music irritates his ears, but he forgives it as it blocks out the wailing and calls of the whores on the street. He doesn't like that he has to go in here, in fact, for the first time he finds an ally desirable.

_The Red Pony._ There's a drug dealer in here tonight, celebrating his 53rd birthday. They've come to see a miss Sally Saturn, a whore who dresses up as Sally Jupiter and uses whatever little good name she had to attract vermin. She's become popular in a short amount of time. A reflection of how the most powerful men can come to their knees at sexual gyrating.

He enters the building, ignoring the sneers of the few people he passes, clearing the beads out of the way and trying to not take delight in seeing the security guard back away from him. He pauses when he enters, trying to find his mark.

"And now, gentlemen," the DJ announces over the cheap PA system. "You've been waiting all night, and we're proud to announce she's ready! The one, the only… Sally Saturn!"

The lights dim and all eyes focus on the woman who has snuck on the stage somehow, she has her back turned to them, her right arm resting on her hip while she uses the other to lean against the pole. He grunts. An attention whore. He tries to find the man he should be interrogating.

The music begins. It catches his attention. Not the usual kind they'd play in a strip joint, let alone one as classless as this. It's old, too old, reminds him of her.

Then he notices him, the man at the edge of the stage, already waving wads of cash at her. She hasn't even began her exhibition yet. Pathetic. He begins making his way towards the man, the siren entrancing the club with so much power that no one takes two notices of him.

Just as he reaches out a hand to grab him by the shoulder, she turns around, shaking her hips like a horrible snake. But it's not her hips he notices.

She notices him, and freezes.

She's motionless, her painted mouth parted a little, and beneath her mask her eyes are wide in terror. The crowd becomes frustrated.

"Take it off!"

"Fucking move!"

"I didn't pay $25 entry to see you stand there!"

The calls and roar of the booing becomes louder, but not as loud as the screams when they realise _why_ she's frozen.

She watches as his hands turn into fists. "Shit."

Security comes for him when he begins to knock the men in front of the stage out of his way, but they're no match. They never will be. They're just sacks of meat with a special nametag. He splits one's head open against the edge of the stage.

"Rorschach!" she shouts. "Rorschach! Stop!" he ignores her, taking out two more of the guards. She shakes her head. This is stupid, the police will be here soon.

She jumps down off the stage, trying to grab him. He shoves her off and punches a security guard.

"Rorschach! For fuck's sake!" she screams, picking up a barstool and swinging it over her head, smashing it across the back of his shoulders. He stumbles forward, another security guard goes down just before. All the security is gone now, they're either unconscious or they've made an intelligent decision to flee.

He grabs her wrist, tugging at her to come with him. She pulls away.

"No, Rorschach." She snaps. "Get out of here."

"Don't listen to whores."

He grabs for her again and she thumps her palm against his ribs, pushing him back a little bit. He throws a punch, she ducks and throws her elbow up under his chin. He uses this chance to grab her arms and toss her over a table, smashing the glasses under her, she cries out as a shard of broken glass drives itself into the top of her left shoulder.

She hears his footsteps as glass crunches over it, and she tries to pull herself up, broken pieces of glass cutting her knees. She forgets about her shoes and their impractical platforms, and slips back down. He's standing over her now, breathing heavily. He tilts his head to the left and makes fists. He's furious.

He pulls her up by the throat, no doubt he'd try to lift her off the ground if the boots didn't make her so much taller than him. She reaches forward, keeping one arm on his hands, and pulls at the mask. He pulls back, letting go of her. She lands steadily on her feet this time, stumbling a little. He re-adjusts the mask, and she runs forward, punching him in the abdomen. It's like punching rocks, she doubts he can feel it. He knees her in the face and she goes down like a ton of bricks.

She's on the floor now, holding her face in her hands, groaning and struggling, much like the first time they fought. He leans down and picks her up effortlessly, slinging her over his shoulder much to her protesting. He pulls a nearby table cloth off it's home, taking it with him as he leaves through the fire exit, her kicking her legs and screaming to no avail.

He jumps into the storm drains. The rain stopped long enough for them to be empty, he walks for about five seconds, not saying a word, even as she hits and kicks him and screams and pleads. She's panicking. She's positive he's going to kill her now.

They come out through the end of the drain, she's stopped struggling by now, the only noise she makes are sobs. They're under the docks, where the rocks meet the dirty water. He tosses her down, throwing the tablecloth at her.

"Cover yourself."

She wipes blood from her mouth and glares at him, her face a little swollen from the crying and the trauma it received during her beating. She snatches the tablecloth, pulling it over herself as she sits.

"Rorschach…" she pants. "It's not what you think." She peels off her mask and throws it down next to her.

"Dressing as ex Minuteman and removing articles of clothes for money. Saw it with own eyes."

"Please, just listen to me."

"No need to. Won't be seeing you again."

"Rorschach!" she shouts, so loud and high that it's almost a scream. It hurts his head. "Please… Christ, I know you hate listening but please, just once."

He's silent for a moment, then nods. She takes a deep breath.

"Mom died." She stutters, wiping tears from her eyes, her makeup smudging. "There's been problems with the will, her estate's been seized… I don't have money, I'm two weeks back on rent, the landlady…"

"No excuse. Have other qualifications."

"No one's hiring."

"Veidt offered."

"Oh come the fuck on!" she exclaimed. "I can't go back there! I walked out on the guy and shot down the offer once already. Besides, they won't pay me up front…"

"Pride is poor excuse for illicit activities."

She scowls at him. "Yeah, and pride is little excuse for lack of compassion either, you asshole! I mean, why'd you have to beat me up?"

"Smashed barstool on back. Whores don't get mercy."

"Do you honestly think I _enjoyed_ doing that in the slightest?" She laughs, shaking her head. "That was going to be my second last show. All I needed was enough money to pay my rent for bout two months."

"Other options."

"Like what?" she snaps. "A homeless shelter? Staying with that annoying obese woman from work with the stupid fucking hair? You've got to be kidding me."

"Desperate times."

"Oh, bull_shit!_" she shouts. She's enraged now. He's never seen her so angry.

"You're such a goddamn hypocrite!" she begins, slamming her palm against the rocks she sits on. "As if you'd ever swallow your fucking pride! As if you'd stay with someone you don't like! Christ, Rorschach, you won't even tell me anything about yourself, even though I've spent so much goddamn time helping you! I mean what the hell, do you honestly think I don't have feelings? Am I like this shell devoid of all emotions to you or something?"

He's silent. She begins to remove the pins from the wig.

"Too many emotions. Get in the way. Weakness."

"So then why treat me like I don't have any? Why keep referring to me as a fucking whore?"

"Are one."

"See, Rorschach, that's your problem. A male mask slips up and almost rapes a woman? Moral lapse. I make even the tiniest mistake, hell, I so much as _walk_ wrong and I'm a whore?"

"Acting sexually promiscuous for money. Definition of whore."

She sighs, pulling the final pin out of the now ruined wig she once admired, tossing it onto the ground, followed by the wig cap and hair elastic. Her hair falls down to her shoulders again, and she runs her fingers through it.

"You know… Rorschach… we're really alike."

"No." he growls. "Nothing like you. Have morals. Have decency."

"So do I… I'm just not as strong as you are… I mean, with our views on the opposite sex. You know, I had a pretty fucked up life in that respect, the whole being, well, _technically_ molested and raped by an old fat man when I was fourteen, if you want to get into the legalities of it… and seeing my dad with so many women who _weren't _mom… but you know, I still managed to sort of get over that enough to trust you. But you… Rorschach… you have seen the best and worst of me and you won't even think of me as a human being."

She bites her lip, the taste of blood from the split runs through her mouth, and looks up at him, right into the shifting patterns that make her so uneasy.

"What the hell happened to you that could make you hate women so much?"

He prepares to crush her skull into the rocks below, but when he actually sees her eyes, that changes. The same look in her eyes when she told him she was sorry on the rooftop. Whatever she feels is genuine, and if he's not mistaken, she's sad for him, not sorry for him, no, there's no pity there, just honest sadness.

She averts her eyes and twists the cloth between her hands. "If you don't want to work with me anymore, I understand. I mean, I went a long time avoiding you anyway, I can probably continue."

He grunts. He knew this would come up. "Will discuss later. Go home."

She laughs. "Okay, yeah, who knows, I might enjoy being raped several times on the way home."

He sighs. She's right, she's hardly dressed safely, and even with the tablecloth she'd attract unnecessary attention.

"Plan?"

She shrugs. "People will want to know where Sally Saturn went. I'll stumble out of here in the morning, tell them I was delirious with fright and fell down the boardwalk or something."

He shakes his head. "Better if Saturn disappeared."

She smiles. Is he getting at what she thinks he is? "I guess it's better to act like she never existed, huh? I mean, I have all the money I need now… well most of it if I shop for food wisely."

"Cover self, follow me. Storm drain near apartment block. Have to hurry. Looks cloudy."

--

She climbs in her window, stumbling. As much as she wanted to take the boots off, they seem to be where most of her warmth comes from. She tosses the tablecloth aside and runs for her bedroom, slamming the door behind her and leaving him to his own devices. He notices a letter underneath the door. Its from the landlady, probably demanding rent. He's seen them before.

Her diary is still on the table. He's not sure how long she'll be, but he picks it up anyway. He flicks through to the current month, scanning over the entries.

_Rorschach is amazing. Have I ever written that?_

This sentence puzzles him. How much he distrusts her constantly comes up in her entries, how can she still think so highly of him? What's wrong with this woman? She's more emotionally unstable than he imagined at first, her judgement is lacking. To strip in a bar is one thing, but to idolise someone like him? She belongs in an asylum.

She comes out of her room, a robe on, wiping away the blood on her face with a wet cloth.

"Get out of my apartment." She says, quietly.

"Why?"

"Look, Rorschach, cut the crap." She makes her way into the main area, sitting at the table. "Ever heard the phrase 'What happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object?' Well, not so much as a phrase as a question…"

"Not physics major. Ask Manhattan."

"That's not the point, Rorschach. It's a logical question, one can't exist alongside the other."

"And?"

"Oh come _on!_ Can't you see where I'm going with this? You're an immovable object, you won't leave as long as your ass points to the ground."

"Hardly call you irresistible."

"Ugh, then use the word unstoppable for fuck's sake! See? See how fucking stubborn you are?"

"Hurm."

She lights a cigarette and takes a deep drag. "Why are you still here? Get out."

"Don't see much protesting on your end."

"I'd like to avoid having my face punched in. We can't work together anymore, there's no point in you being here."

"Can work together. Stop being whore."

"No."

"Yes."

"Get the fuck out."

There's another silence, she crosses her arms. "Why the fuck are you still here? I'm telling you to go away, I don't want to work with you anymore! Goddamnit, if I'm such a whore this should be a goddamn blessing."

He pauses. He's not even sure why he's still there. And he hates himself for it. He should leave. He's going to. But not before…

"Go back to Veidt."

"Veidt? Hahah, yeah, hilarious."

"Go back tomorrow."

"They won't take me back."

"He will."

She stares at him. "Rorschach?"

"…Do it and this will be forgotten."

She wants to scream at him. Who the fuck does he think he is? Her father? He has no right…

But she can't help herself. She smiles and laughs.

"I can't stay mad at you, you bastard."

"See you tomorrow night."

He turns around, and just as he's ready to climb out, she speaks up.

"Rorschach? Uh… thanks."

"Find you in Red Pony again, break spine."


	14. June 3rd to June 6th

**I have survived the goddamn flu! And as a celebration I have this semi-large chapter.**

**As usual, thanks to KatsWords141 for her fantastic reviews. Yes, our little masked man is getting a little attached. Obsessed, even? Hehe. Only time and the energy drinks that spurr me to write this stuff can tell. Another thanks to my newest reviewers, Gaara-frenzy, Riot-Angel and Kayomie Latoro. Kayomie, I'm very flattered! Thankyou so much! And there's no need to excuse yourself, these stories are like getting my Rorschach fix. Why do the best characters die so tragically?**

**Anyway, onto the somewhat coherent slabs of words!**

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June 3rd:

Getting ready for tonight. I have so little time on my hands today. Went to one of the thrift store, I needed something sort of formal to wear. Came home with a nice enough outfit. $20 all up, because it's 1940's knock-off Chanel. Thrift stores have never failed me.

I hate business things. Mom fucking owes me so badly for this. Here I am, putting on more makeup than I like to wear and spending an hour on my fucking _hair_ and she hasn't even called me to wish me a happy birthday. I did get a call from that fat woman I used to work with. Susan or whatever her name is. She wants me to come out to some bar with her tonight. I guess this meeting is good for something.

Oh, and that weirdo from next door followed me back from the thrift store. Gotta remember to keep an eye out, maybe tell the landlady. She doesn't seem to like him much, either; maybe it would be a good excuse. Whatever, I could probably take him in a fight. It's not like he's a big guy, he probably does a lot of drugs or something. He gives me the creeps. I told him to leave me alone or I'd kick his ass, he might think it's funny now, but I won't hesitate to shove that sign where the sun doesn't shine.

--

_Rorschach's Journal, June 3__rd__: Still waiting for her, in apartment right now. Said it wouldn't take longer than a few hours. She's late._

_Find myself obsessively wondering where she is, using all self control to stop self from paying visit to restaurant to check on her. Followed her to thrift store without face, she noticed me on the way back. Doesn't take kindly to being followed. Threatened to assault me. Had to resist laughing._

_Talk of gang war has died down. Think alliance has something to do with it. The dogs are afraid of us, running into their holes with their tails between their legs. Past rivalries mean nothing now; to the scum it's a matter of surviving. _

_It's her birthday tonight. Things are quiet. Giving her night off. Might shut her up; give me some peace for the night._

_--_

June 4th:

Wow. Just _wow._ Amazing night last night. Where do I begin?

Adrian Veidt? Well, even for a total snob, he's a pretty cool guy. How he gets all that publicity is no mystery to me anymore, what a smooth-talker. No wonder mom wants me to run off into the sunset with this guy, he's like a yuppie only a little less arrogant and with a nicer haircut. Actually, he's a lot nicer to me than yuppies are.

Anyway, yeah, I have another meeting with him at lunchtime tomorrow; he's going to take me to Rockefeller research facility to understand the fabrics more… I might get to meet Dr Manhattan. I'm shitting myself over it, to be honest. I've seen on TV that he can make people explode just by looking at them. What if I say something wrong?

Ugh, getting off that subject…

Rorschach was there when I got back, of course. Still scared the crap out of me, though. Anyway, the weirdest thing happened. It goes without saying that he quizzed me on Veidt… but he gave me the night off. Seriously! He even said happy birthday. It scared me. Something is wrong.

Anyway, I'd better head off. I have to go get some food and medical supplies, as well as pick up a new shirt or something for tomorrow. What the hell are you supposed to wear when you're meeting the infamous 'Super-Man?'

--

_Rorschach's Journal: June 5th__th__: Veidt is up to something. Very suspicious. She told me he's taking her to Rockefeller today. Possible meet with Dr Manhattan, don't like idea of how much information she seems to be getting. Old ties are never cut, it seems. She may end up meeting four of the Watchmen, five if she comes into contact with Ms Jupiter. Is her meeting of so many masks really inadvertent? Or is this a cover for something more sinister, maybe trying to out the Comedian, even me. Don't like idea of her meeting Ms Jupiter. Women seem to be incapable of keeping whore mouths shut, especially to each other. Who knows what information she may be able to squeeze out of Veidt using disgusting feminine wiles, although I'm confident my theories on his homosexuality are true, possibility is still there. May be so sexually perverted that any gender will do, be it with fellow men or whorish snakes._

_Will be waiting for her. Know she'll slip up sooner or later. One day she'll forget I'm watching, stumble in with blood on hands. Matter of time._

_Came across dead child tonight. Noticed she barely reacted emotionally. Have a broken her, or is she a good liar?_

--

June 5th:

Quick entry today, I'm leaving in about fifteen minutes. Told Rorschach where I'm going so he won't flip out when he finds out (and he will.) Didn't seem happy at all with the idea of me meeting Dr Manhattan.

Called Mom today. No answer. She must have been at the doctor or in a meeting or something. Real shame, I bet she would have loved to know how the thing with Veidt went.

Saw a dead kid last night. I was so sickened… I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. Not in front of Rorschach. He thinks I'm harder now. I didn't react at all; if I had I would have cracked. I came home and cried the hardest I ever have.

And now I'm off to meet the super-man. Here's hoping I don't fuck up and get disintegrated.

--

_Rorschach's Journal, June 6__th__: Waited until 9.00, was about to leave and pay Veidt a visit when she arrived, in tears. Initially wouldn't tell me what happened, insisted nothing's wrong, changed her stance after I threatened to interrogate him myself. Veidt sexually propositioned her. She insists it wasn't a sexual thing, unless Veidt wanted to start seeing her and not expect fornication in return. Not the case. Never is. Know him better. Does this make Veidt so perverted and sick that he can't even decide what sexual orientation he adheres to? Had sudden violent urges towards him. Confused by lack of violent urges to sobbing whore. Veidt's advances most likely her fault. Doubt he knew how much she tends to over react in such respects. Probably saw her as conquest, she's not usual type gossip columns link him with, disgustingly altered whores with faces plastered in expensive paint women seem to clamour for in fits of low self-esteem._

_Says she also turned down job offer with him. Understandable considering his bad timing via personal matters. Didn't like how upset she was. Partially angered, partially sympathetic. Seems horrified by any suggestion of fornication, possibly triggered by bad experience as child? Seems to see it same way as me: a dirty and irredeemable custom. Not comfortable with similarities. Thoughts stirring up weird emotions._

_Her resolve didn't fail her. Joined me for patrol, twice as much rage as I have ever seen in her. Asked her to sneak into suspects home via ventilation window so as to surprise them. Opened door for me, she'd already killed guard dog. Eerily nostalgic. _

_Calmed down enough to tell me about meeting Manhattan. Seemed in awe of him. Met Ms Jupiter, said she mentioned me, doesn't think highly of me. Nothing's changed. _

_Talk of gang war near non-existent. Disappointing, but intriguing. Are they planning something bigger? Possible need to eliminate us first. Must investigate._

_--_

June 6th:

Fucking terrible night…

The meeting yesterday? That started off well. Started off being the key phrase used here. Veidt took me to Rockefeller, which is breathtaking enough. I've never seen so many military personnel in one place.

Then we walked in and there was this really weird sort of humming noise… and the further in the residential quarters we went the more blue light there was. And then I saw him. Holy shit… how do you describe a god? I don't think you can… well; obviously, he was blue, and glowing.

And he was naked. Because you know, being around someone who can destroy tanks with a wave of his hand isn't comfortable enough. I didn't want to make eye contact but I didn't want to look at… at _it_, either. I'm not kidding when I say I was uncomfortable, either. I felt a little sick, just seeing it out like that. They're so ugly…

Anyway, lack of clothing aside, Jesus tap-dancing Christ! It was so fucking surreal… he showed me how he originally made the fabrics to give me an idea of how the structure works… he has such a precise and logical way of speaking, but he has this amazing and calming voice that doesn't match. Hearing him explain the difference in shifts of the atomic structure of the fabrics was fascinating, even though I didn't understand any of it. Anyway, the square of fabric was beautiful. It was like this lovely shimmering yellow colour with all sorts of blues in it, and it shifted on its own. He let me keep it. It's beyond me how a fabric that feels so delicate could withstand a bullet.

Anyway, after that, Laurie came out. I was like 'Holy fuck, I'm meeting the second Silk Spectre.' I was in a room with Dr Manhattan, Ozymandias and Silk Spectre. Jesus Christ, it was amazing.

So Laurie shows me around while Manhattan and Veidt talk about things that don't make sense to me. The place is sort of nice, considering there are military guards all over the place. We sat down and had some coffee… she doesn't like Rorschach, seemed a little judgemental to me. She assumed I was sleeping with Veidt, too. Guess that explains a lot of things…

After that, Veidt brought me back to the office for some finalizations. He gave me some files with the final details of the fabric shipments, the details on tools and some other stuff I don't understand. Then he mentioned he put some job positions in there that he's willing to give to me, one of them was for his PR assistant, which has phenomenal pay and awesome hours.

Now, I was seriously going to take them home and look at them. He's a bit weird but bearable, and the positives outweighed the negatives.

But then… then he asked me to stay behind. For drinks. He said something about getting to know me better, and how my thought patterns 'fascinated him,' and how he's curious about why I'm always single. I told him I was uncomfortable and I was on the brink of losing it, I had to leave. I can't do this shit. I can't fucking do it. What a fucking slime bag. And then as I'm leaving he tells me that I'm still welcome to come to work for him and that he's got the message and it won't come up again. What the hell?

I mean, what the fuck am I, some sort of sexual conquest? I left. He wanted to know why, first. So I told him the truth. I told him I'm seeing someone else.

I lost it on the way home. Even the thought of his grimy, manicured and moisturised hands coming near me freaks me sick. Spent the whole trip home crying. I must have looked like a lunatic. A lady on the subway asked what was wrong. I told her it was nothing. I mean, what do you tell people? That the 'smartest man in the world' offered you a chance to form some sort of relationship with him and you turned him down because he sickens you? Because he's older than you? Because he prostitutes himself for corporate gains when he could be doing something else? Because he's just like all the other men out there under his perfect fucking image?

Mom's gonna hate me. Maybe I'm over reacting. I've thrown away something great. But I can't help it. It feels wrong.


	15. June 12th: A Tough Choice

**I need to stop procrastinating. I have all these ideas in my head but I'm so damn lazy that it takes me ages to write them. Bloody hell...**

**Anyway, Kat, it seems nothing gets past you. You sly little thing, you! I think you may like this chapter. Change your pants, first, though. And I fully agree with you on the Dr Manhattan thing. WHY DID THEY MAKE IT BIGGER? It got to a point where my brother actually leant over and asked "Does he ever put his pants back on?" I feel, no, weep for the people at Imax who were greeted to Manhattan-wang the size of golf carts. **

**Riot-Angel, I use a lot of time-jumping throughout this story, so it's not linear. Things are all over the place, which is why I include a lot of dates. This also makes it a pain in the ass to write, but I'm cool like that. :P**

**Now, this chapter was a little harder for me to write. You'll understand why. I'm not good at this, or what would presumably come after. Oh boy, writing _that_ will be a challenge.**

* * *

It's June 12th 1984.

"_Walter,_

_Until you pay your rent, I have changed the lock on your door. Don't think about coming in through the windows 'cause I changed the locks on them, too._

_If I find one broken lock before I get the money I'm calling the cops and you're out of here._

_You've got three days before I burn your crap and get the place fumigated."_

He holds the note in his hands after spending a few minutes deciphering it; the landlady is possibly the only person in the world with worse handwriting than him. He furrows his brow, giving a grunt. The old whore changed the locks while he went for his paper. Not good.

He can't break the locks. If she calls the police they'll find things, he'll end up exposed. But he doesn't have any money yet, not enough for the rent, anyway. Spent it on a bagel and disinfectant.

'_Tightening on rent.'_ He thinks to himself. _'Must need abortion.'_

He runs places he can go through his head. Not a lot of abandoned places these days, all occupied by gangs or homeless criminals too drug addicted or drunk for a shelter. Homeless shelter is option, but not one that sits well with his pride. He needs somewhere to go, he needs to rest and take care of his wounds.

The music from the room next door distracts him. She must be awake. Maybe…

No, no. He shakes his head. He can't. Can't trust that whore, would have to go in with face, minute he closes an eye she'll try to take it from him, try to see who's underneath.

He sniffs the air, a familiar aroma wafting from the crack underneath her door and overpowering the stench of his own apartment. She's baking brownies. Despite his efforts to do otherwise, he pictures her, taking the warm treats out of the oven, singing as if no one is watching…

He pauses. Brownies? For who? For Veidt? Is the whore putting on an act for him, playing disgusted while she secretly admires Veidt? Maybe attempting to create scandal, gossip tabloids will pay a rewarding amount. Perhaps trying to worm way into important company information, Veidt has nuclear research under his belt at the moment, a meltdown, killing thousands, and a terrorist's dream.

He turns, walking down the stairs and exiting the building, entering the ally underneath her window, putting on his face in the safety of the afternoon shadows after extensively making sure no one is there. Then he climbs up the fire escape, the sunlight does not sit well with him. He hates coming out during the day.

Her window is open, as usual, and he climbs in, clearing his throat. He doesn't have time to waste watching her sing, he's tired and in pain.

She turns on her heels; knife in hand, ready to strike. She is visibly relieved when she realises who it is.

"Oh, fuck, Rorschach, you scared the ever loving shit out of me." She gasps, putting the knife on the bench and using her free hand to place on her chest. "What's wrong?" she asks, obviously referring to the highly unusual event of him visiting in the daylight.

"…Has been problem. Need place to stay."

She pauses, and then raises an eyebrow. "Oh _really?_" she asks with a bit of a smirk. "So… you can't go home?"

"No."

"Well, take a seat. My couch is always free. I guess you want brownies?"

He doesn't humour her, sitting on the couch, slouching down in a bent position until his elbows are on his knees.

"So uh, that weirdo from next door got kicked out today." She begins, glancing back over her shoulder. He feels a little uncomfortable seeing her that way, on the other side of the coin, she's less than pleased that she's not a little more presentable. Shorts, a baggy sweater, messy hair and no makeup are not things she likes being seen in. "You haven't seen him, have you?"

He tries not to smirk, and humours her. "What does he look like?"

"Red hair… really pronounced cheekbones, it looks like he hasn't eaten for weeks, and he's pretty fucking short, too." She frowns while her back is to him. Now that she thinks about it, they're actually the same hight, roughly. She shakes her head. Too much of a coincidence, surely.

"No. Haven't."

She shrugs and opens the oven, putting on her mitts and pulling out the hot tray. "Damn, would have liked to see you give that guy an ass beating."

He resists the urge to jump up and hurt her. The records are still playing. He's going to ask if he can turn it down, but then she laughs. "It's weird, really. He has this growl sort of like you, and he's the same height, and…" she pauses.

There's a silence between the two of them. He's frozen in place.

"…He smells like aftershave… he… he…"

She turns and faces him, her eyes open, her jaw dropped. "He smells like _you._"

Another silence.

"…You bastard. You're him. I mean, he's you… I… I… oh fuck!"

She puts a palm to her forehead and thinks over all the terrible things she's said about him. He internally debates killing her and making it look like a mugging, she knows too much. No doubt she'll be upset he lied about himself to her now, that he had so many opportunities to tell him but never did, he gathers women are fickle like this.

"…You _stalked_ me?!" she screams. "What the _fuck?_ Why the _fuck_ would you do that you bastard?"

"Suspicious." He replies, matter-of-factly. "Had to make sure you were-"

"Getting a bargain at the thrift store?" she buts in. Her fury is unmatched this time. She rarely interrupts him, if ever. "Are you fucking _serious?_ I cannot believe this!"

"Needed to keep tabs on you."

There's a smash next to his head. She's tossed a plate at him. "Get the fuck out, you creep!"

"Not leaving."

"What?! Get out!"

"Can't. Must make sure secret is secure."

"Oh fuck off!"

Another plate. He grunts. This is getting stupid, he has to calm her down and make sure she won't talk. He approaches her.

"Rorschach…" she warns, stepping back until her back in against the fridge. "Don't…"

He reaches out for her and she shouts. "I fucking…" She steps on his foot, before delivering an uppercut. "…_warned_ you!"

He's startled for a second, and she ducks down to escape, but instead he delivers a shoulder to her back, throwing her onto the floor with a thud. This isn't the end for her, she kicks at his shins, tripping him onto the floor beside her.

"Need guarantee you won't talk." He growls, rolling over and straddling her around her waist. "Even if guarantee involves severe brain damage." She reaches out to throw him off but he grabs her hands. She knows his secret now. She knows. A _whore_ knows. He watches her as he squeezes her hands, slamming them against he floor. She screams. "Even death."

"FUCK YOU!"

His hands are around the whore's neck now, she tries to squirm out. Not this time. This is it. He has given her too many chances, now it's time to clean up the filth that she is.

She gasps for air, his hold on her is tighter now. She's thrashing about, her legs kick, she makes gagging noises and tries to beat him with her fists. Her face is going a shade of red. He holds on. He's not compromising this time. He's sick of her, the questions she brings up and the emotions she stirs in him. He hates her.

Another moment passes. Her legs stop and she is silent now, bar a little wheezing as her lungs struggle. Her hands stop beating his back and slide down his arms, and she holds onto his gloved wrists, tightly, as if she's on a roller coaster or climbing a tall ladder. She looks into his eyes, and past the puffy, red bags surrounding them, and the red colouring of her whites, he sees something.

And it's not fear.

Horrified, he immediately lets go, leaping off her and leaning against the fridge. She lays there for a moment, stationary, before gasping for air, coughing and sputtering, grabbing at anything to pull herself up before eventually rolling over onto her knees. She clutches her throat.

He doesn't look at her, but stares at his hands instead. Why did he stop? What's wrong with him? What the hell _was_ that he saw and why did it scare him so much?

The coughing stops, he feels a tug on his coat.

She's sitting there, alive, although gasping. Not what he had planned. He expects her to hit him, scream at him, anything. She should be furious.

But instead, she smiles, and her hands, red from hitting him so many times, reach to where his muffler and neck meet.

"_Stop." _He tells himself. Her fingers grip gently at the end of his face. He pulls back, the feeling of her skin on his startling him.

"It's okay…" she whispers, her voice cracking, a wheeze to it. "I won't take it totally off… just…"

The music is playing. The same some that was playing when they first physically fought each other.

"_Stop!"_ He tells himself again. His arms don't move, nor do his legs, as she gingerly pulls the fabric up his neck and over his chin, stopping when it's over his nose.

"_Stop her!"_ The orders ring through his head as her hands touch his face, her fingers brushing over his cheekbones. He notes how soft they are, he wishes he'd known sooner. She moves forward.

"_No!"_ He snaps at himself as she comes closer. This isn't what he wants. This is filthy, disgusting, he's giving in to a temptation, to a whore.

"_Don't compromise!"_ He can feel her breath now. This time, he obeys. He won't compromise anymore.

Her lips are marvellously soft, she smells wonderful. His lips already tingle. He wants to hold her, but he's not sure how to, he opts to stay in the same position he's in. He's not even sure how to do this. He notices her lips are making a very, very gently squeezing motion on his, so soft he can barely feel it; but it still manages to make everything go out of focus. He tries it back.

The music continues to ring through the apartment.

_Bei mir bist du shoen means that you're grand…_


	16. June 7th to June 11th

**ACK! Almost forgot to add my author's note there!  
Anyway, I am so sorry for keeping you guys waiting! I feel terrible... I've been swamped with mid year exams and personal dramas and boyfriends and turning the legal age for drinking and being tired all the time and Swineflu. Yes! Funny story! I literally had Swineflu after being mis-diagnosed with it about three times previously! It's okay, I'm alive and kicking, and to be honest it's not as bad as everyone's making it out to be. Really, until they started me on Tamiflu it was just like a really, really bad flu. Tamiflu sucks and I have nothing good to say about it at all, it made me dizzy, hungry and I started retaining water and bloating like no man's business. THE CURE IS WORSE THAN THE DISEASE! **

**Okay. I should stop making excuses. They're like assholes, everyone has one. Anyway! Yes, I have been extremely busy lately and as a result I've been very, very slack. **

**Forgiveness?**

**Anyway, thanks to everyone who reviewed, and a shout out to Katswords141 as per usual - she has a new story up, go read it, fools! Here's the next chapter, I'm sorry it's not a little more substancial but it's been ready to be published and just gathering dust in my documents folder. I'll stop talking so you can read it now. :)**

* * *

June 7th:

Mom's dead. I only got the call last night, she died on the 5th. Her lungs just conked out, out of fucking nowhere, then she went into cardiac arrest and that was it.

Her most recent lover is contesting the will, he says he's entitled to it, and knowing Aunt Stacy she'll probably try to get a lot, if not most of it. Thanks to that and some issues to do with her accountant money laundering, everything's being held until it's sorted out. Her funeral is in five days, in Paris, of course. I won't be able to make it, I'm broke.

I wish we'd been prepared for this. We thought she had another year, at least. The emergency plan was that I just took what I needed out of the inheritance to go over there and tie up the loose ends. I guess not.

I'm shaken up… yeah… but I'm not too upset.

After I got the call I went to Veidt's office. He wasn't in, so I left him a note letting him know Mom's gone. On the way back the Landlady stopped me. I'm behind on rent, she started literally screaming at me about it, she threatened to kick me out if I don't give it to her in three days she'll change the locks. I barely have enough money for cigarettes.

I need money. I can't go back to Veidt, not after I stormed out like that… besides, I'd have to wait two weeks for any money. I'm going to go through the job listings, see what I can find. There has to be something that will pay up front.

---

_Rorschach's Journal, June 8__th__: She was late last night. Said she went out for a job interview. Landlady must be tightening on rent again. Must have sexually transmitted disease. _

_She seemed edgy, retained composure enough to put whore in hospital, though. Have to remind self how fast she is, frightening speed sometimes. Feel oddly protective of her, probably because her strength is lacking, can't afford to lose ally so quickly, need whores and dogs to take us seriously._

_Noticed she was oddly quiet tonight. No stupid questions. Liked it. Hope it continues._

_--_

June 8th:

I'm fucking disgusted with myself. I got a job. As a stripper. I feel gross.

It was in the paper, said they paid up front. So I went, I mean, I'm a dancer, why not? Only short term, right? The manager was actually surprisingly nice, even though he was fat and horrible, and the place stank. I start in two hours. They're making me dress up as Sally Jupiter or some shit. I don't even fucking know anymore.

I hope to god Rorschach doesn't find out. I'm wearing a mask, I'm so scared. What if he does? He'll fucking murder me, that's what. I'm already treading on thin ice, I won't get another chance. Fuck. What if he reads this?

I'm going, I'm freaking myself out.

--

_Rorschach's Journal, June 9th: She had to work today, was late as a result. Won't be out tomorrow night, either. Will enjoy the quiet._

_Pawn store was being robbed tonight. Vermin are so desperate for money they'll re-steal stolen goods and then sell it back, stupid store owners buying things that they've already paid for twice in some sort of twisted circle of crime. Noticed engagement rings in store, wondered what poor women had their fingers cut off for them. Not even marriage is sacred these days, or the promise of it. Doubt it ever was. Take me to a place where vows were committed too, and people acted like people and obeyed god, and I'll show you a drug-induced dreamscape. Church of England established entirely for purpose of adultery, gods law never taken seriously._

_While cleaning up bodies, mentioned rings to her. Laughed at me, said marriage is pointless, said two people can love each other without a show. Wonder if she's right. God's law doesn't seem to matter, scum have been breaking it for centuries and he hasn't moved. Wonder if this is something people who can love understand, is she capable of love? Doubt it._

_Watched her wash blood of vermin off hands. Didn't like feelings. Tomorrow will be welcomed._

--

June 9th:

Working tonight. First big nighttime show. My boss says he's already had about five bookings. I guess sex and nostalgia do mix? Who knows?

Rorschach hasn't asked any questions yet. This is a good thing… unless this means he knows everything? I'm… really, very unsure.

Hate to keep the entry short but I have to go. Hair and makeup takes ages.

--

_Rorschach's Journal, June 10__th__: Enjoying the quiet, missed solitude. Not worrying about her was beneficial, very productive tonight. _

_Whore stabbed through the middle with led pipe today. Had been brutally raped. Deserving fate? Possible. Later on interrogated some of the regular's at Happy Harry's. Mob boss dealing drugs to young people again. Need to put a stop to this. Having birthday tomorrow night at strip club, going to see whore's dance around._

_Made a point of walking past it tonight. Posters up advertising 'Sally Saturn.' Seems not even the original Silk Spectre can be left untouched by the world's dirty hands, although her attire does seem somewhat welcoming to it. Wonder how Miss Jupiter would react knowing that what's left of her mother's image is being prostituted? Possibly un-phased, being paid to fornicate with Manhattan nowadays, basically prostitution on a government level. _

_Stopped by her apartment before going home. Not there. Suspicious, what kind of work requires her out at 4AM? Assuming she works graveyard shift, hoping line of work is decent. _

_--_

June 10th:

Told my boss last night I'll be giving two more shows, I have enough to keep me covered until the estate becomes freed or I can get another job. He seemed okay with it, says he can charge double know and will even have a bigger crowd.

Noticed some women in the audience, they all had their boyfriends with them. Were they dragged there or had they come on their own? Maybe it's how vintage the show is? I'm not sure. It worries me. I don't want to become too well known. Especially with Rorschach on the prowl.

Landlady is demanding rent again. Gave her the money. I noticed her banging on the weirdo next door's door afterwards. Must need the money for something. Maybe she's pregnant?

--

_Rorschach's Journal, June 11__th__: Disgusting whore was stripping, the one from next door, the one I trusted and worked with was dancing like a dirty snake for money. Removed her from bar, fought me first and I had to resist urge to kill her. Wanted to know why._

_Took her through drain system to dock area. Told me her mother is dead, needs money. Claims she was desperate. Not desperate enough to go back to Veidt and ask for work, swallow pride._

_Had spine to call accuse me of being overly proud. Not true. Let it slide, was delirious, no doubt feeling guilty. _

_Caught me out with that sincerity, again. Has some sort of manipulative power over me. Hate it. Wish I knew how to stop it. Followed her home, kept having thoughts of her being raped dressed like that. Deserves it, however, doesn't feel right. Keep thinking of her as partner, how I thought of Dan. I'm wrong. Very wrong. She's not like Dan. Confuses me._

_Tried to quit. Forced her not to, don't want her working alone. Too dangerous. Least I can do is stop her from being murdered and raped in the streets; I created her blood lust, her sense of chaotic righteousness. My responsibility now. Told her to go back to Veidt. Knowing the purple wearing homosexual he'll take her back, especially if accusations of sexual advances are true. Will validate him. Mother is dead; sympathy alone will earn her well paying position. _

_Says she can't stay mad at me. Dislike this, want her to stay angry, want her to resent me. Getting too close. Even allowed her to bring up distrust towards whores of world without consequences on her part. Need to put her back in place. Does she even have a place to stray from?_

_Feel dirty writing about her. Hate her, same time want to make sure nothing hurts her, want to crush throat of every man in Red Pony. What is this whore doing?_


	17. June 15th: A Rescue

**And here's another chapter for you guys. No kissy-kissy in this, that's for another time, and I just _love_ watching you all squirm in anticipation. Teehee! Anyway**, **thanks to the reviewers as per usual. As you may be able to tell, this story just might be coming to a close. Not just yet, however. ;)**

* * *

It's June 15th.

_Thump._

She wipes her hands. If they're going to bleed all over the place, they could at least try and do it without getting it on her. Not that she minds, of course, one of the things Rorschach has taught her during their time together is that blood is nothing to be afraid of.

She sighs and wipes the back of her hands on the bottom of her coat. She doesn't like not having him here, but it was necessary. She didn't have the time to go get him, she had to move right away. She's been in that factory warehouse since 4.30 in the afternoon, it wasn't until 11.00 that night she got results.

"And whatta we got here?" a deep voice laughs. She freezes, tensing up and getting ready for more violence, keeping her back to whoever is speaking.

"Boss was right... doesn't matter how many security guards we bribe, there'd be a vigilante in here..."

"It would be wise for you to leave." she snaps.

"Look, sugar," he growls. "We worked pretty hard to locate this stuff, and we ain't leaving without it."

She freezes. _We?_ Nothing to be afraid of. At the most, three or four, they seem to be coming in bursts. The Mafia doesn't seem to be very organized these days.

"I warned you." she chuckles, pivoting on her feet to turn around. However, what she sees _isn't_ three or four thugs, it's a group of about 30 of them. Many of them are armed. The man speaking to her seems to be the leader, compared to herself and the others, he's huge. Built like a line-backer, as her father would say.

He steps back and snaps his fingers, and they all come rushing. The first one to lay a hand on her is the first one to take a palm to the nose, she pushes upwards, the cartilage shoves back into his brain and he dies instantly. For a second some of them are taken back by such an effortless kill, but in the end it only makes them more enraged. She spins around, punching a random man in the side of his neck and knocking him back, before using him as a platform to jump up out of the center of the circle she's found herself in. She lands on the edge of the group, and begins to lay into the first man she can get her hands on. She jumps onto his back, wrapping her legs around his waist and snapping his neck, leaping off as he falls to the concrete. She feels a hand grab her arm, and the gives him a roundhouse kick to the stomach, he flies back and hits another man in the process.

The next thing she feels is a throbbing back in her shoulder. Someone has hit her with a chain. She bites her lip, trying not to cry out, trying to avoid showing a sign of weakness as the tremors shoot down her spine. She feels like her collar bone has been shattered, but she knows it's not, she's being weak. Rorschach would be ashamed if she gave up now.

She uses her free arm to pull on the chain, pivoting around to face her attacker. She dashes forward, her speed greater than his, wrapping the chain around his neck before he can even figure out what's happening. She pulls as tight as she can, he drops the other end and she catches it, pulling on that one quickly. She hears a crunch and he falls.

Another man grunts behind her and she ducks, she was right to do so, as she sees his fist fly over her. While she's down she kicks at his knees. She used more force than she anticipated, there's a loud crack and his legs bend the wrong way. She can't just rely on her hearing now, there's a lot of shouting, and the man she just crippled is screaming bloody murder.

She jumps up, now there are four or so men coming at her at once. She elbows one and takes a punch in the chest from another. She kicks him in the groin, and as she does so she feels a fist come down on the same collar bone. _"Fuck. It's definitely broken now." _she thinks to herself while reaching up and breaking the man's jaw.

Just as she gets ready to take down the others, she feels something huge to the back of her head, and before she can feel any pain she's flown forward a bit. She grabs her head, grunting and trying to pull herself back together. Before she can though, she feels a searing pain in the back of her arm.

"Enough of this shit." the giant man says as he takes her by the scruff of her neck. "We didn't come here to get beaten up by a chick. We came here for the loot."

"N-no!" she groans, elbowing backwards, landing to his chest. He grunts, but doesn't falter, pulling down her hood and turning her to face him, holding her by the hair, the knife he used to stab her in her arm held against her neck.

"Mm... Ya know, when I heard Rorschach had a little girlfriend I expected a fucking dog... but you ain't so bad. No Brooke Shields, but definitely more than I expected."

He tosses her to the floor, and as she tries to get up he presses one of his giant boots onto her back, pushing her against the concrete again. "But ya know, I ran into Rorschach before, few years ago. Thought he was a fuckin' faggot. Everyone did, but ya know, people started to doubt that when he had some bitch following him around. I thought 'Ya know, maybe he's actually one of us, or a doctor or a lawyer or maybe he's a cop or somethin' under there.' But nah, where is he now? Faggot isn't even here to help out his woman!"

He's pushing down really hard now, the pressure on her crest and broken collar bone is becoming greater. She's gasping for air.

"Go get the fucking fabrics. Boss says if we hurry we can have em on the market by tomorrow night."

He leans down and smiles. "So, tell me baby, does Rorschach give it to ya good? Because I think I'm gonna do better."

He starts to laugh and she's running out of air. She can hear the crates filled with her mother's work being opened, she wants to scream, not from pain or fear, but in anger.

Suddenly, the pressure is gone and she can roll over and gasp for air. The giant man is on the floor, and something is on top of him, laying punches into him as he screams. She can see specks of blood flying, eventually pooling under the body.

"...Rorschach?" she asks, a smile on her face.

He stands up, there's more shouting now. "Miss Saturn."

A man runs at him and he effortlessly picks him up, flinging the thug into a nearby wall. She laughs, giving a little cough as she does so and stands herself up. "We gotta come up with a better name."

He leans down quickly, the rest of the thugs are coming now, and tosses her a pipe. She catches it, nodding, and quickly spins around, holding it like a baseball bat and taking out two of the thugs. He backs up so he's closer to her, and the two of them move automatically. Occasionally he calls out her name and she'll spin around, lending an extra hand, leg or a pipe to whatever unlucky vermin he's dealing with. Sometimes she'll do the same and he'll use his strength to assist. She's fast enough to keep them stunned, but he's strong enough to take the tougher ones down.

The numbers begin to dwindle, and just as she's about to charge at the final few, he grabs her wrist to stop her, the contact sending a shock down her arm.

"Gun." he warns, so low that it's less than a whisper. He's right. One of them is holding a pistol, and not doing the best of of concealing it.

She nods, and as if they've used telekinesis they automatically know just what to do. She hurls the pipe at one of the men on the side, and Rorschach runs to the man with a gun. As he pulls out the firearm, Rorschach kneels down and she dashes towards them, using his back as a platform to step off and land a foot to the man's head. Her foot keeps contact with him all the way to the floor. She puts her bodyweight on it, his head still underneath, until eventually it gives a crunch. Disgusting, but well deserved.

The four or so men leave now, some of them dragging injured comrades with them. He runs to follow them, to track them down, but then she gives a grunt.

Although he knows it's not right to let them go, he can't help himself. He turns around to her to see why she seems in discomfort. She's sitting on the floor. She's unbuttoned the top of her coat, and pulled down the strap to her singlet, as well as another one that he chooses not to mentally connect to any under-garments. There's a lot of blood.

He begins to make his way towards her and she looks up, shaking her head.

"Go. I'll be fine. Thanks for saving me back there."

She shakes his head now as he stands above her, before kneeling down and examining the wound.

"Removed bullet from my shoulder. Returning favor."

His gloves touch her skin, and that alone seems more painful and awkward than having a gaping hole in her shoulder. She's glad he covers his hands. He wipes some of the blood away.

"Deep laceration, will need professional medical attention. Surprised you still have as much muscle control in that arm as you do, possible severed ligaments."

She chuckles. "Well, I'm a tough girl."

"Not tough, stubborn."

"Look who's talking."

He lets go and sits next to her. Grimacing, she pulls her straps and the coat back up, giving a hiss as her bra strap touches the edge of her wound.

"Need to go to hospital. Free clinic at least."

"You got away with a bullet wound. I'll be fine."

"How long have you been here?"

"Since 4.00, I heard some topknots on the subway talking about it. How did you find out?"

"You weren't home, stopped at Happy Harry's while trying to find you, found out about plans to steal non-Newtonian Fabrics, among other things. Doesn't take genius."

She smiles. "Should have known you'd find me sooner or later."

"Sorry to ruin your alone time."

"The only reason I didn't wait was because I didn't know when they'd strike... there's a lot of stuff I don't know about this..." she removes a packet of cigarettes from her breast-pocket.

"Why do they want the fabrics?" he asks, watching her as she lights up a cigarette, placing the pack back in her pocket.

"Well, they have the potential to be bullet-proof, as well as fire proof... and it's speculated that they might be capable of surviving a nuclear blast. Because they're so lightweight, they could be worn as every day clothing, it'd be easier than wearing a vest. Because these are the samples, they're like... well, the originals. You can't copy the formula without these. Anyway, the Soviets, apparently, would pay a shit load for them. Hence the sudden attention."

"So why isn't Veidt picking them up now?"

"You need special transport to do so. It's still on its way from California. It needs to be all kinds of radiation proof."

He turns to her. "And we're sitting around them why?"

She laughs, exhaling smoke as she does so. "Because it's just a health concern. As far as we know, they're safe, it's just public outcry. In this day and age, if anything has the potential of being radioactive it's public enemy number one. Unless you're actually Dr Manhattan and you're what's saving everyone from being nuked... anyway," she sighs. "Your sperm count is safe. Relax."

He resists the urge to hit her for her distasteful sense of humor, settling for one of his usual 'Hurm' noises.

"Sorry."

She stares at him. "For what?"

"Not arriving sooner. Could have prevented stab wound."

"It's fine. I'm a big girl, Rorschach. It hurt more when you broke my ribs… so…" she sighs, trying to get off the current track. "What else did you hear? You mentioned you got information on other things…"

He pauses, and it becomes apparent to her that he's hesitant to tell her anything. But eventually, he speaks. "Heard more are coming. Remember gang war we stopped?"

"Yeah…"

"Turns out we just helped them call truce, all gang matters are off until threat's gone."

"Threat?"

"Us."

She sighs and shakes her head. "Well, once I'm stitched up, I'll be fine."

"Don't think we have time."

"What?"

"Know you're here. Predicted we'd be waiting. Big heist."

"Oh… so that was that big wave then, right?"

"No. There will be more. Will be armed."

"I'm assuming you'll stay, then?" she asks, a smile on her face as she adjusts her mask. He nods, and she feels a wave of relief wash over her. There is a long, somewhat endless silence, and she already knows why the situation is so awkward. But what does she tell him? Is there even anything she can say? Should she just leave it or…

"Rorschach?" she finds herself saying it even though she didn't mean to. He grunts in acknowledgement.

"Uh… about the other night…"

He turns his head, his face shifting and making the situation worse for her. She realizes she doesn't have anything to follow up with, and as she begins to stutter, they both begin to hear voices, and the two doors at the front of the building open.


	18. June 12th: A Loss Of Control

**Oh, what's this? I'm skipping a journal chapter? Heheheh, think of this as a bonus chapter for all of you being so patient with me. ;)**

**Anyway, just as a note, this is a loooooooooong chapter. Partially because I have never, _ever, EVER_ written... intimate scenes before. It was a difficult hurdle but I think it's much, much more substantial than the infamous _'And then he put his thingy in my thingy and we did it for the FIRST TIME' _heheheheh. I am a little worried that it tends to ramble on, but I figured if there's going to be a sexy chapter I should at least make it a longish one. Also, I just can't stop myself. It's about 4AM right now...  
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**So, yes, if you didn't pick up on it, there is sex in this chapter. I KNOW, OMGWTFBBQSAUCE! But yeah. Heads up!  
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**Biiiiiiiggggg thanks to Kat, Gaara and Riot, my three best reviewers. Hopefully - HOPEFULLY - I didn't send anyone batshit. :P You have all been rewarded for your sanity. Now I am going to try to keep mine and go to bed...**

**Oh, and by the way, anyone else excited as fuck about the DVD release? I know I am!  
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_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Her heart is racing, she's not sure if it's from panic or if she's anxious about the path this is heading down. They've somehow found themselves in a more arranged position during their time together, although they still remain on the kitchen floor. His back is against the fridge, the gentle humming in the background behind the heavy breathing and the sound of their lips parting every now and then. His legs are sprawled on the ground in a relaxed positing, and she's straddling him. Her body rests on his hipbones, her legs at either side, and her body is close to his own, her arms around his neck as they gasp for air and their thoughts seem to be missing in the moment.

With every breath he pulls her closer. She's so soft and delicate and every point of contact gives him a light shock, pins and needles, almost, and ever sound she makes is so wonderful that he tries to remember what causes her to make them, and tries again and again to have her repeat them. She's giving him weird feelings, dirty ones, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care that a woman of all people has blinded his judgement. All he cares about right now is keeping her as close to him as possible.

She can feel his hands on her waist, pulling her tightly against him. His body is so firm and she feels so safe in his tight grip, sometimes it feels like his arms are crushing her, but she forgives him because she can guess he's less than experienced. His kisses were stiff at first, but now they've both found a rhythm to every movement and breath. Her lips feel the soft skin of the man who lives next door but her hands can feel the face of her teacher and mentor, and for a moment she feels a little guilty. But he gives a sigh and something warm passes through her again and she forgets.

"_Not with those hips."_

The memory flashes through her mind and horrified, she pulls back, opening her eyes wide and her stomach dropping. She takes a deep breath and begins gasping, as if she's been swimming and just came back up for air. Although she can't see his eyes, his mouth moves in a way that asks her what was wrong.

"…I… I…" she stutters, shaking her head, avoiding looking at him at all. "I can't do this." She whispers, stumbling off him and onto her feet. "I'm sorry, a-about that, I mean. I don't know what came over me."

She hears material move and she can tell his mask is back on, and he gives a grunt in acknowledgement. "Mutual mistake. Less than responsible on my part."

She nervously laughs, frantically re-arranging some books on the bench. "Well, uh, yeah, hah, I guess its just tension. I mean, it's out of our systems now! Won't happen again, right?"

"Won't happen again. Guarantee. Temporary moral blinding by whore, will correct this."

She pauses, she knows this shouldn't hurt, but it does. "…W-what?"

"Moral lapse. Matter of time. Leave a steak outside and alley cats will surface."

"Excuse me?" she snaps, tensing her jaw. Tonight has been emotionally raw for her, and she is _not_ in the mood, even though she somewhat expected this. "_Meat?_ Jesus Christ, you're going to deny…"

She cuts herself off and the mask shifts. "Deny what?" he asks.

"…Nothing. There's nothing to deny. You're right. It was a moral lapse, I would have _never_ made out with a lunatic otherwise."

"You kissed _me_." He growls, stepping forward and pointing to her.

"You tried to kill me."

"Never received sexual advance after putting down vermin before."

She goes silent, storming past him and into her bedroom and slamming the door behind her. He groans, as much as he hates it, he has to set boundaries with her. He knocks on her bedroom door. He can hear crying.

"Fuck off!" the muffled voice from the other side shouts. She sounds aggressive enough to become violent.

"Open door."

"I told you to fuck off!"

"Suicidal tendencies, need to assure safety." He lies.

"As if you care! Since when did you have sympathy for suicides?"

"Suicide is introverted murder. Have to make sure, or I'll be accomplice."

He hears footsteps and the lock on the door clicks, swinging open. She's borderline hysterical, her face is just a little red and puffy, and her weakness makes him want to strangle her from mere frustration.

"Look!" She screams. "Fucking LOOK! I'm fine, I'm alive, it's fine! Goddamnit, Rorschach! You act like you don't care one minute and then act like you do the next! I don't understand you, you're so fucking complex."

"Complex?" he asks. "Hypocritical coming from woman who instigates sexual encounter and then revokes it."

"Oh yeah, so what, you enjoyed it?"

"No. Fooled by hormones. Won't happen again."

"It wasn't sexual anyway!" She shouts.

"Seemed enough like sexual assault."

Her jaw opens and her face begins to heat up. "…Sexual assault." She repeats, her eyes thinning. "SEXUAL ASSAULT? HOW _DARE_ YOU! You have no _idea_, Rorschach, no _fucking_ idea!"

"Willingly did it." He bluntly replies, picking up right away on what she's referring to.

"I was _14! _Have you ever heard of statutory rape?"

"Once a whore, always a whore."

"FUCK YOU!" She screams at the top of her lungs, reaching for something to throw at him. As she does, they both hear slamming on the door.

"Keep it the fuck down in there!" It's the landlady. He grunts, so she ignores the music but not this?Facing defeat and not wanting to face the landlady's wrath, she resorts to sitting on the edge of the bed, putting her head into her hands and crying quietly, her body shuddering with every breath.

"I'm sorry." She whispers through her palms. "I'm so sorry. Please… don't leave."

He remains where he stood. He didn't plan to, although he won't tell her that. "Why?" he asks.

"I feel safer when you're here."

He tightens his hands into fists. On one hand, her weakness and attachment to him has grown to be too much, it's not viable to work with her anymore. On the other… this woman makes him feel emotions that, although he's afraid of them, he finds strangely addictive. It makes him feel weak, and this frightens him more than any squad of police personnel, and although every single inch of his mind is ordering him to leave right now and never, ever look back on this stupid situation, he can't bring himself to move his legs.

She continues talking. "I'm a wreck, Rorschach, a fucking train wreck. My Mom's dead, I couldn't even visit her grave, I'm an orphan, I'll never ever get over something that happened years and years ago, I still have nightmares about Sienna Buchanan… I don't even have any friends. You're all I've got, Rorschach… and I keep finding myself more and more attached to you and it scares the shit out of me! I don't _want_ to get close to you, I don't want any of this."

"Then why do it?" he asks.

"It's stupid." She wipes her eyes with her sleeve and shakes her head, not looking at him at all. "You… you should go now. I'm so sorry."

"No." his reply surprises her, she expected him to walk away. "Tell me. Avoiding too many questions. Want answers."

"It's not worth-"

"Will beat truth out of you." He's not lying when he says this, her actions are leaving him so confused that he's suspicious. Is this a conspiracy? Is she an undercover cop, or a government agent sent to distract him? Maybe she's a topknot, keeping him pre-occupied with stupid emotional issues while they transport their child pornography. His mind flashes to the black widow, eating its mate after fornication. Is that her plan? To push her way into his life and weaken him so she can strike? No matter what it is, it's working, and he wants to know why.

She takes a deep breath, her body giving a shudder, still tense from her crying.

"When… when you were trying to kill me…" she begins. His mind jumps to a new theory. Possible asphyxiation fetish, sexual perversion?

"I… I was thinking, really fast. And… well, I was thinking about… well, Walter, I guess. And how he, well, _you've_ been next door this whole time, protecting me without me even knowing it."

"Coincidence. Have been here for years."

"No… not like that, I knew that. But when you wanted to know where I was going all the time, or when you followed me to the thrift store."

"Accused me of stalking."

"Let me finish!" she snaps. "Anyway, and I realised… you've always been there for me… you removed me forcibly from a strip club when it was a stupid mistake anyway, I've been weak and I've sobbed and ran away like an idiot and you still let me hang around, and… I guess the stalking thing is the closest thing to sweet I'll ever get from you."

"Not what I intended." He says, trying to break the mood. She shakes her head.

"It doesn't matter. I don't know you too well, but I know you well enough that you never, ever admit you care."

He watches her now. She's smiling. Her moods are erratic at best, when she's not clinging to him for dear life, that is.

"Need help." He begins, sitting on the edge of the bed, as far from her as possible. He's concerned that she'll take a turn and do something irresponsible again, even he is starting to notice that her mood swings are becoming more extreme by the moment.

She laughs. "Oh really? Funny, coming from someone who's so 'disconnected' from the human condition."

"Honest observation. Mood swings are extreme, suicidal one minute, elated the next. Harbouring too much anger to be healthy. Obvious issues with sexuality, in combination with other recent traumas. Will end up insane without help."

She rolls her eyes and makes a fist, leaving her pinkie and thumb raised to resemble a phone and raises it to the side of her head to speak into it. "Pot! This is Kettle, over!"

She begins laughing to herself when he speaks again. "Don't want you like me. Worry about you."

Her laughter stops and she stares at him. "You… do?"

"You're my partner. Have to. Otherwise you'd die. Can't trust you with yourself."

"…So we can still work together?"

He nods. "Have stuck together through worse."

She grins, and in a burst of spontaneity, she leaps across and throws her arms around him, not thinking of how uncomfortable it made him when the pins and needles feeling start again. She pauses for a second when she feels his hands on her back. As bad as she feels for it, secretly, deep down inside her, there is a woman crying for her to love him, and care for him, and look after and protect him. He is, after all, the only male other than her father she's ever trusted, but her emotions embarrass her and she tries as hard as she can to discourage them.

He can feel her heartbeat and it makes him so anxious that he's not sure if he should stay or run away as fast as he can. Why, _why_ did he touch her back? Has she altered his perception of values so much that he _wants_ her to make those noises again? Is she worth it? Just thinking about how warm her body is makes him question himself. He wonders if she's different at all, he feels like she is, and factually speaking it may be true. She's not like other women he's met, she doesn't paint her face to shop for groceries, or sell her body (although she came close enough) or disregard the horrors of the world. She's as afraid of him as he is of her, well, that side of her, anyway. The side that makes his mind work like this, almost as if it's in a different mode. He feels more suspicious, but less logical, less careful. He takes more risks around her.

She rests her head on his shoulder and the sensations run through them both, even such a small amount of contact unintentionally means so much to them, both of them going so long without being touched lovingly. She wonders if he ever has touched a woman, he wonders if a man has ever felt any sort of respect for her. It begins raining.

"…it's raining." She whispers.

"Stating obvious."

They remain frozen in their position. "…So… you can't leave, then, not in the rain."

"…No. Staying."

They remain the same way for a few more minutes, the sound of each other's breathing and what contact they have being enough for the two. He can feel her heartbeat speed up. The rain is so heavy now that they can hear it all around.

It's too much, now, and it was a matter of time before one moved. It was her, of course, as she has somewhat more of an idea what to do. She reaches up and runs her hand down the mask again, watching it as it shifts, the frightening patterns exciting her more as she reaches her fingers underneath the muffle and lifts up the bottom of the mask again. She can already feel his grip on her tightening as she rolls it up past his nose.

Their lips press together and his body tenses up, the same questionable feelings as before washing over him and clouding even more of his principles. A part of him tries to remind him that she's a whore, and lust is a sin and this is a distraction, that there is so much with the situation. It even tries to bring up images of his mother. But all he can seem to think about is how delicate she seems to be in his arms, how the curves of her body change with ever breath, how soft her upper body is compared to her lower back where his hands rest and pull her closer to him. Her lips seem to fit perfectly against his, and they are the softest things he has ever felt in his life.

As with the kitchen, they soon find themselves caught up in the moment, taking advantage of the bed. It takes him a bit of coaxing, but eventually she removes his jacket, and from there it moves a little more smoothly. He decides to try taking off her sweater, however, he finds himself a little hesitant as soon as he takes the bottom hem into his hands, and taking the queue, she pulls the garment over her head, making up for the broken contact during that moment with an even more passionate kiss that sends him on fire. There's so much for him to explore, he never imagined women could be this beautiful, that their skins was so soft and smooth and fragrant. The curves that once disgusted and embarrassed him are now driving him crazy, he can't seem to choose a place to keep his hands.

She lets out a soft moan as he runs his hands from the sides of her ribs to her hips, no one has ever touched her waist like that before, in fact, no one has ever touched her with such care and, well, almost appreciation. She feels her own sense of joy as she places her hands on his shoulders, her thumbs on the material of his undershirt, and runs her hands down to find the bottom of the garment. It feels as if she's doing it in slow motion, as if she's taken some kind of sensory enhancing narcotic that allows her to feel every gentle movement of every muscle and inch of flesh as her hands stream over them. Within seconds of reaching their target, her hands has successfully removed and tossed aside the clothing. She knocks off his hat, and with the most ginger of motions she rolls up the mask even further until it's no longer covering the identity of the man she's sharing such deep passion with. Unlike everything else, she takes extra care to reach back and place it on top of her bedside table, knowing it's significance, knowing the she was sharing this moment with the shifting face as well.

Pants are next, and before he even attempts it she removes her bra to avoid wasting time and possibly frustrating him. He finds himself thankful for this gesture, as he's heard stories of the puzzles that keep them closed. When it's tossed aside he finds himself in awe of how amazing her breasts feel pressed up against him. He never, ever would have imagined that they could feel so wonderful, and he gives a groan in honour of the softest part of her body so far. It's not long before they are completely without coverings, not even bothering with sheets or covers. If the landlady barges in now demanding rent he will simply kill her. The breathing is so heavy now that ever sound she makes is one that elicits even more arousal from him. Momentarily she pulls away, still exhaling heavily as she throws open a draw on the bedside table, carelessly tossing about anything in her way until she comes cross the little silver sachet she thought she'd never use, moving back to him and carefully ripping it open, tossing aside what she doesn't need and embarking on a long, passionate kiss as the final preparations are made.

He's unsure of what to do, but he knows the basics, giving him enough to go on to very, very gently press into her. It causes her to make a new, even better sound that he knows right away will be one of his favourites. It already feels euphoric, and if the countless stories he's heard are right, it will only get better for them both. At first the movements are slow, he gently carefully pushes further in. The breathing gets heavier as she feels him and smells him and listens to every breath and sigh and grunt. She never knew it could be like this, his gentleness is something she had never, ever imagined she'd find in such an act. She is awestruck at how good it feels, and how much she wants him to enjoy it as well. She gives a soft but long moan as she presses up against his torso, the firmness sending shivers down her spine. She hooks her arms over his and around his neck, her fingertips pressing into his skin as every thrust gives her a new sensation.

Eventually, the movements become faster, and she moves her hips along, causing the connection to become even closer than before. The breathing frantic and she's making noises that are causing him to lose control. She arches her back, causing her to push up against his body again and she softly cries out, causing him to move faster and harder. The cycle continues, each movement triggering a more intoxication reaction from her, and each new moan and cry and gasp causing him to pick up the pace and lose himself even more into the moment until eventually she pulls herself up against him as tight as possible, burying her head into the space between his shoulder and neck and letting out a serious of moans and cries with enough intensity to completely send him over the edge, groaning loudly and causing them to share a new, undiscovered feeling they didn't even know existed. They collapse where they lay, trying to regain oxygen and energy, before finally falling asleep, exhausted from the almost chaotic events.

She awakes, shivering, despite there being a sheet over her now, and sits up in the bed. She turns on her lamp and looks at her clock. It's three hours later. Looking around, she feels her heart sink. The mask is gone from the bedside table, and the only clothes remaining in the room are hers. She pulls herself out of bed, wrapping herself in a robe and entering the main area. The window is open. He's not in sight.

She closes the window, and as the memories of the night flood back and she pours over them, she makes her way to the refrigerator and removes a bottle of wine that she had received as a condolence gift from an old co-worker. She takes a glass from the cupboard – her last one – and sits down at the table, filling it to the brim with the red substance. She takes a sip and then lights a cigarette, and wonders if it's too late to run away.


	19. June 12th to June 14th

**Oh my goodness. I am so glad that last chapter went over well. Maybe even a little better than I had expected. Teehee!**

**Riot, that sucks about the DVD release for you. In Australia we have to wait until the 30th of July for the bloody release, but I don't think I'll complain anymore. That really sucks. Maybe buy it online from the US and have it imported? Gaara, in the US I'm pretty sure the DVD release is scheduled for the 21st of July so it coincides with San Diego Comic Con. (Is anyone going to that by the way? If you are, I am a very jealous young lady indeed.) Kat, I am also very jealous of you because you get it a whole NINE DAYS before me! Grrrrrrrrrrrr.**

**Shout-outs to Kat, Gaara and Riot as usual. :) I hope the story is starting to come a little more together now. ;)**

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June 12th:

He fucking found me. He fucking _found_ me! I can't believe it; I should have known with my luck that I'd never get away with this. He was looking for a mob boss or something, apparently, and it turns out they came to see me. Second last fucking show and he found me.

He started beating up customers so I tried to stop him, asshole beat me down pretty bad, but only because I was in those damn boots. He dragged me to under the docks and interrogated me like he usually does, I mouthed off at him. He seems to hate woman a lot for some reason and I finally brought it up. Didn't find out why. I don't think I ever will.

I must have said something, though, because he followed me home and then raided my house. He insisted I go back to Veidt… I said I would.

Sometimes I wonder if deep, deep down, he does care about me. I doubt it. He probably cares more about the alliance we have than me as a person. Does he actually care about people? Urgh, why the hell am I even thinking this? I'm going to bake some brownies as an apology for him. I'd just… like him to be happy with me. Just once.

In other, better news, the landlady told me that she kicked the creep next door out until he can come up with rent. I doubt he'll be able to. I don't think he has a job, whenever I see him outside the building (and he's not stalking me) he's just bumming around with some stupid sign. Guy is insane. He's got to be. She called him Walter, so at least I have one half of the name for a police report if he starts following me again and I break his neck. It's weird though, I always have the weirdest sense of Déjà vu when I run into him… or smell him, for that matter. She's gonna have to burn that apartment down to get the stench out.

--

_Rorschach's Journal, June 13__th__: Made big mistake. Huge mistake. Irredeemable. Don't think I can handle it. Feel dirty, gave in to desire, committed unalterable sin with that whore. Lost resolve with her, let her win. She won. Did she? She must have, must have been her goal, didn't see protesting on her end. Visited her to have place to sleep until I could secure money for the Landlady, ended up falling for stupid feminine wiles. Kept telling myself, warned myself I was too close. Didn't listen? Why? Stupid, stupid mistake. _

_Will spend night patrolling, then finding new location. Can't be near her anymore. She knows now. She knows me with and without my face. Dangerous. Can't see her again. Can't bring self to hurt her, either, trying to erase her from world was what led me to her bed. Won't see her again. Should we cross paths, will treat her as criminal._

--

June 13th:

I can open this with how everything started. I can open the entry talking about the good parts. But I can't. All I can think about right now is how fucking alone and worthless I am.

I slept with Rorschach… or Walter, or whoever he is. I can't believe it. He's right. I am a whore. A fucking disgusting, worthless whore. For a second I thought, hey, it's okay, obviously he feels the same too, but I woke up and he was gone, he'd left out the window. I guess it was nothing. Maybe he feels the same, maybe he's embarrassed.

No. No, he's not. He's probably disgusted with me. Unless he really was banking on me being a whore and just wanted some tail… no, that's not like him. Who the fuck am I kidding? I told myself all this time I knew him and I didn't. Underneath that mask is the creepy guy next door, not some super man whose example was one I was supposed to live by. I'm so fucking confused. I idolised him and he…

I don't even know anymore. How the fuck am I supposed to feel? I guess I should be angry with him for just running… but I'm not. I'm angrier with myself. He was right. Once a whore, always a whore.

I'm not going to wait for him tonight. That would be stupid. In fact, you know what? I'm not even going to go out. I might call Adrian Veidt's office again today, see if I can apologise, keep my promise to Rorschach. I have to prove I can at least keep my word.

--

_Rorschach's Journal, June 14__th__: Quiet tonight, but information gathered was useful. Gangs are working together now, have a common goal and will be allies until it's reached. Not sure what it is, can assume it's not fundraising for charity. _

_Saw whore, not in costume, leaving restaurant with Veidt and a group of yuppies, all thrusting lighters at her and offering to drive her home. How many of them is she sleeping with? Probably slept with Veidt long ago, sexual advance that upset her so much probably not first one. Kept word, did go back to Veidt like I told her. Seemed happy there with her face painted up and expensive clothes and those shoes that are just more costly versions of what the less glamorous whores wear. Seemed like she belonged. True. Does belong with vain and superficial men, and women who make it through every day with a cocktail in hand and a nose full of cocaine. Will probably marry one, fade into an existence of drugs addiction and high rise apartments while yuppie husband sleeps around. At least she'll be off streets and out of my way._

_Won't miss her._

_--_

June 14th:

I have to keep this quick. I heard something today I shouldn't have. On the subway back from signing my contract with Veidt there were two topknots talking about warehouse #38 on the docks, and something about a heist. I heard the word 'fabric…' I panicked; I checked the files on the fabric that Veidt had given me as an update on the shipment; they're being stored in warehouse #38.

If I hurry, I can be there by 4.00PM, it'll still be light so they shouldn't have done it yet, and the building will be easy enough for me to sneak into. Hopefully, anyway.

Other news while I'm here? Veidt gave me a job, just like Rorschach said he would. Went out to dinner with him and some of the business partners last night, had some fun, actually. Was out until late, then I came home and slept like a rock.

I'm not sure how many there'll be, but I have to take that risk. This is the last of my mother's legacy; I'm not going to let the city's cesspool take it from me.


	20. June 15: A Battle, A Gunshot

**Well, it seems that lately all I've been doing is writing. All kinds of crap. I've even been writing in the car. Anyway, refining the chapter after this as we speak, should be up soon.  
It sucks that things are coming to a close. I really enjoyed writing this. However, I have had a fantastic idea for another story (a crack! Ohmygod) and I may even write a sequel to this one. I should stop bitching, this isn't even the last chapter. T.T**

**Totally unrelated, but sucks about MJ, huh? Well, I choose to celebrate his musical prowess instead of linger on the negatives. Man, you start to feel _old_ when one of your main childhood heroes dies. Just thought I'd mention it. I dunno, seems like something too big to not mention at all.  
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**Anyway, thanks to reviewers as usual. You guys are really keeping me motivated to keep this going. I doubt I'd even be this far without all the support!**

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They stand in front of the crates, their stances eerily similar as they eye off the gigantic number of adversaries who have entered the warehouse. Both of them have their hands in fists down by their sides, not looking away from their opponents.

"Can still run." He warns her.

"Run?" she laughs, her mouth moving into a smile. "And let _you_ have all the fun?"

He looks over the men and few women they'll be fighting. Many of them are armed with everything ranging from crowbars to baseball bats, and he hardly doubts some are carrying firearms.

"Think you can do it?" he asks, not doubting her abilities, but wanting to make sure she's confident.

"I don't know. Do you?"

He pauses, before eventually nodding. "Surprising me more and more, think you'll do it again."

The first thug steps forward, turning back to face his horde of comrades. "Alright guys!" He calls, silencing them. "Our contacts say we got about 20 minutes to do this before we attract Police attention. Focus on taking these two out first, like we planned!"

And with that, they charge forwards, causing the two to spring into action without hesitation. They concentrate mainly on self-defence, although Rorschach does take the time to toss her a weapon – a chain that she begins to use to her advantage immediately.

At first, they seem fairly competent and in control, however, when the numbers of attackers increase, she hears him give a grunt; he has taken a blow to the face. This does not go lightly with her, as she swings around with lightening speed to savagely pummel his attacker with her fists. But her concentration comes at a price when another assailant grabs her by the hair, pulling her backwards. Rorschach is one step ahead, gripping their arm and twisting it in the opposite direction with an almighty force and causing the forearm to snap out of the elbow joint. She doesn't have time to thank him as she kicks the stomach of another foe, but he can tell she's grateful.

One by one, they manage to work their way through the seemingly endless crowd, although sustaining the occasional hit themselves. As the minutes pass and the police fail to come, they begin to feel the wear and tear of their work, her knuckles becoming bloody and raw, and even he feels the ache in his arms after a while. She's worn out, and her years of smoking comes back to haunt her as she finds herself gasping for air while he is otherwise in top condition.

"You okay?" She shouts, ducking down to avoid a punch and delivering an uppercut. He gives a grunt as he drives a female thug's face to his knee, causing her to screech.

"Fine. You?"

She gives a cry as she slams two of her enemy's heads together. "Just peachy!"

Almost as if she'd given a cue, another voice begins to shout over the top of the rabble.

"GUYS! COPS ARE ON THE WAY! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE, WE'LL GET THEM LATER!"

The command seems to be the guiding light for the thugs as almost instantly the number decrease and dozens of gang members flee. So many flee in a short time that the two are left standing there, gasping for air in front of the un-touched crates.

"…We… did it…" she gasps, looking around as they clear out from all exits.

"Not over yet. Police will arrive soon."

"Well," she sighs, feeling her bruised jaw. "Then we'll just leave when-"

An almighty crack pierces the air and bounces off the walls, and they both turn to face the source as time suddenly moves slowly. A man stands with a gun, mouthing words that they can't make out as one of his accomplices pulls him away, desperate to get him out of the building despite the gunman's determination.

It's only when he looks to her does he notice she's falling to the ground, or that there's blood splattered on the concrete beneath her as she clutches her back, her mouth open and her eyes wide.

Time begins to move at regular speed again but he still feels that he can't get to her fast enough as she crashes against the floor. It's not until he grabs her shoulders and rolls her over that she actually makes any sort of sound, a gasp mixed with a scream, almost like a reverse cough. More blood pools.

He opens his mouth to speak her name but realises someone may still be watching. "Miss Saturn!" he barks the only name he can think of, shaking her when she doesn't respond to him at all.

"Miss Saturn!" He repeats, turning her head to face him. She looks up at him, a terrified expression on her face.

"…Rorschach?" she asks, her voice quivering. She's going pale, and he instinctively picks her up in his arms, she's as light as he remembers her being in the strip club.

"Taking you to hospital." He replies bluntly, turning as fast as he can and heading out the back entrance.

"Rorschach… they'll know… take me back to my apartment… I need to change my clothes…"

"No time."

"…Please?" she begs, a new tone to her voice that horrifies him. She's genuinely frightened, she's _begging_ him

As they pass through the doorway he thinks frantically. If they take the storm drains they can cut at least 15 minutes off the time it would take them through the back alleys. If she can stay alive, they can make the detour.

"Fine. Have to hurry." He grunts as he takes the leap off the docks and onto the sand underneath, heading into the storm drains.

"…I feel sick…" she says so quietly that it's almost a whisper as the sirens wail from the streets above.

"Breath." He orders. "Keep breathing. Don't close eyes."

By the time they arrive at the apartment, her costume and his coat are soaked in blood, the bleeding has slowed down, however, she's still losing blood, and her pallor is turning whiter by the minute. He quickly but gently places her in the bathtub as to keep any blood contained.

"Clothes, where?" he asks, his voice sounding panicked, even for him.

"Work outfit for tomorrow… laid out on bedroom chair…"

Without hesitation he rushes into her bedroom, ignoring the memories her bed stirs and making a grab for the clothes. By the time he's returned to her, she's managed to take her coat off, discarding it by the side of the tub and giving a hiss as she pulls the singlet top she's wearing away from the bullet wound.

"No," he snaps. "Leave it on. Has bullet hole, non-descript design. Makes for more convincing story."

"Pass me the skirt, then." She pants as she gently rolls down her leggings, unable to avoid the look on his face. But suddenly, she pauses and stops all movement, her eyes widening again. He assumes this is from a sudden shock as the wound is so close to her spine, and removes them himself, ignoring any thoughts or urges that hinder him. With a decent amount of effort, he awkwardly gets her into the skirt, moving her legs himself.

"…Rorschach…" she gasps.

"Will be at hospital soon. Will return and take care of evidence when you're safe."

"Rorschach…" she repeats, her voice shaking and sounding as if she's seen a ghost.

"Hurm?"

"I can't feel my legs."


	21. June 16th: An Offer Not To Be Refused

**Oh no, we're down to the final few chapters! What will we do? Read, of course!**

**Thanks to Gaara and Riot as usual. I'd love to write a bit more in my AN but I have a migraine right now, urrgghhh...**

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"Genevieve!" A voice calls, waking her from her sleep. The lights are bright, blinding almost, everything is white, if this heaven?

"Genevieve?" the unfamiliar male repeats. There's something on her face, and more and more sounds become audible with every fleeting moment. "Genevieve, can you tell me your full name?"

She gives a groan and tries to turn her head. Someone is holding onto it.

Again. "What's your full name, sweetie?"

"Genevieve Sutherland…" she moans, breathing heavily and panicking from all the noise. She knows where she is now, and it horrifies her. All the shouting can only indicate her injuries are serious.

"Okay, Genevieve, can you tell what city we're in?" he asks. She begins crying, her confusion taking over her senses.

"What's happening?" she sobs, her voice slightly muted by the respirator strapped to her face.

"You're in the hospital, honey," he assures her, his voice calm in an effort to have the same effect on her. "You've been shot and you've lost a lot of blood, but everything's going to be okay. Now, can you tell me what city we're in?"

"New York…" she answers, the painkillers they've used on her keeping her from thinking clearly.

"Good, can you tell me what country we're in?"

"America…"

"Very good, your head seems to be okay. Can you tell us what happened?"

Although groggy, she can still remember how important her story is, and lies to the best of her abilities. "There was a man… and he had a gun… and he tried to grab me… and I hit him back and screamed and tried to run away… and then he shot me…"

"Do you know who brought you to the hospital?" he asks her.

"No…" she lies.

"Alright. We're going to fix you up now, okay? So we're going to give you some medicine that will put you to sleep…"

--

He stuffs the last of the towels he used to clean the blood into the garbage bag with her coat and leggings, doing a last scan of the apartment before finally tying a knot in the top of the bag. He'll dispose of it later, probably tomorrow night when things calm down.

Her television is still on, the way she left it when she no doubt left in a hurry. There's already a story on the news about the warehouse, he feels he should be surprised, but the minute the reporter mentions Veidt he finds that he's not.

"_Adrian Veidt has not yet released a statement, however we can confirm that the materials are indeed safe and will be under police guard until suitable transport arrives. The materials are non-Newtonian fabrics that are reported to have potential to be everything from fire proof to even bullet proof, and we can also confirm that there is a high asking price on the Soviet market for a sample of the materials."_

"_Can you tell us what the Soviets would want with such fabrics?"_

"_Well, Ron, it's also been speculated that such fabrics could be altered to survive nuclear attacks, and if this is the case this would be a priceless piece of technology due to mounting tension between the Soviets and US."_

"_So what you're saying is that these are very important materials?"_

"_Yes they are."_

"_Okay, now moving on into the story, do we have any idea at all who prevented these materials from being stolen?"_

"_Well, although police at this point are refusing to comment, numerous reports have surfaced that the masked vigilante known as Rorschach and an unknown female accomplice were at the scene, this would explain the unusually large amount of fatalities found at the scene."_

"_Is there any news on the identity of the woman with him yet?"_

"_Unfortunately there hasn't been much of a breakthrough, Ron, although we have received word that a survivor has told police that Rorschach was referring to her as Miss Saturn. Now we're unsure exactly who she is or if she's even working with Rorschach."_

"_Before we leave you, Nadia, any word on if Adrian Veidt will be making a statement any time soon?"_

"_We have received a press release stating that Adrian Veidt is unable to make a statement at this time due to a sudden and unrelated emergency, however we have been assured that as soon as he is able he will be making a public statement on the matter. When that is we're unsure, but we'll be sure to keep you posted."_

"_Alright, thank you Nadia. That's Nadia Hill with that breaking story. More breaking news from Florida today as…"_

He stops listening and his mind wanders to her. Is she okay? That question alone is driving him crazy. The last sentence she said to him in that bathtub is plaguing him. She'll be okay, right? She's come through worse. She was probably in shock…

He shakes his head. The Nihilist in him knows different and tells him to be realistic – she's lost feelings in her legs due to spinal damage, and people very, very rarely recover. Their days together are over, and eventually they'll be nothing but another memory for him to shut out.

He feels enraged at the idea of her in that hospital; god knows what's going on now. Are they operating on her? Is she okay? Is she even alive? He's unsure if she will survive, she _did_ lose a lot of blood. He shakes his head and tells himself that she's fine. They're probably removing the bullet and Veidt will be waiting for her in that hospital room…

His eyes thin as he makes he way to the window to exit. Veidt. That bastard. This is all his fault for not hiring security that wouldn't fall for a bribe, and no doubt he's giving her all the sympathy in the world to try and work his way back into her bed once she's recovered, if he even needs to _try,_ that is. No doubt she'll run into his arms…

As he sneaks back into his apartment, the thought crosses his mind of visiting her, but he quickly dismisses it. She already has Veidt, after all. Why would she want to see _him?_

But what if Veidt _isn't_ there? What if she's there alone, injured… the idea of this makes him want to break something. He's in his room now, taking off his face and stuffing it and the costume underneath the loose floorboards before hiding the bag in the broken air vent in the bathroom – it should be safe there for the night. He has to go see her.

--

"Now, you have no idea of how you even got here, is that correct?" the policewoman asks as she sits by her bedside. She nods, this lie is far too easy to keep up.

"Well, it may come as a little bit of a shock," she warns, not being entirely wrong. To be honest, she really _doesn't_ know how she got to the hospital, and she's dying to find out.

The policewoman continues. "Well, according to camera footage and a few witnesses, Rorschach pretty much just dropped you in front of the doors and then ran."

She wants to laugh, but pretends to be surprised. "He did?"

The policewoman nods. "Yep. I've seen the footage myself. Do you have any affiliation with him at all?"

Oh god, if only she knew. "No, not at all. I don't even think I saw him…"

"Well then, you should consider yourself _very_ lucky, he doesn't take to women well according to the criminal profile, in fact, I don't even think he's done a hospital drop before…"

The policewoman furrows her brow and Genevieve has a moment to examine her, she's got to be about 28, maybe 30, and seems very inexperienced, even wearing too much makeup considering her line of work. She thanks herself that they sent someone she can easily fool.

"Well," the policewoman shrugs, closing her book of files and taking a swig from a can of Cola on the bedside table. "I don't know what you did, but he obviously liked it."

"I was unconscious…"

"Maybe you're his type? I mean, to be honest…" the Policewoman leans in, her sudden intimacy with her proving further that she's probably relatively new to the job. "I know he's a wanted man and all, but _man_ I love a mysterious guy in a mask!"

The two laugh, although the policewoman's is genuine. She wishes she would leave, it's getting weird. The door opens, and she feels relieved. It's as if god heard her and granted her a favour. But the person in the doorway isn't a doctor like she expected.

"…Walter?"

There is a moment of silence as everyone in the room shoots glances at each other, and the policewoman takes a hint that wasn't there, standing from her seat. "Well, that's all I think I'll need to hear, nothing suspicious at all, just a very lucky girl. I'll leave you two alone…" She places her hat back on her head and stops at the doorway, standing next to Walter.

"And Ma'am? All the best with your recovery."

The policewoman leaves and Walter shuts the door, approaching the bed but not taking the now vacant seat.

"So you dropped me off at the doors, huh? Way to compromise your own safety."

"Had to make sure you were safe. Were unconscious, time was running out."

"…Thanks."

There's a bit of a silence until she decides to break it. "I heard the fabrics were all recovered."

"Media reports still sketchy, confident we saved fabrics however."

"I'm so fucking glad. I mean, if I'd had to go through this and they _did_ get their shitty little hands on them… Urgh!"

He glances at several IV drips. "Condition?"

"Stable. I'm still a tiny bit groggy from surgery, but I'll be okay."

"Surgery?" he asks, tensing up a bit. "What kind of…"

"They had to remove the bullet." She interrupts. "…From the area near my spine."

He's silent for a moment, not liking where this is going. "Legs?"

She pauses, taking a deep breath and fidgeting with her fingers, not making eye contact. "…I still can't feel them at all. The bullet was close enough to cause some damage, they're uh…" she stops and bites her lip, obviously trying to be brave in front of her mentor. "They're not sure if I'll walk again."

Although she expects an even more painful silence, he speaks immediately. "My fault."

"No, it's not. Maybe if I'd been more alert then I could-"

"Wasn't paying enough attention, could have pushed you out of way, disarmed gunman, anything. Didn't."

She gives a sigh and takes a glass of orange juice from the tray with all her food on it, sucking some or it out of the straw.

"Any other problems?" he asks. She nods, placing the glass back.

"I'd rather not talk about them at the moment."

"Bad?"

"Devastating."

A silence moves through the room and it must be a good two minutes before anything cares to say anything.

"Walter?" She asks, feeling just a little uncomfortable calling him that. He nods in acknowledgement.

"Uh, look, can we talk about the other night?"

And as if a cruel author had scripted her entire day, the door opens again, and one of the last people she wishes to see appears. Adrian Veidt is there, flowers in his hand and a little surprised that there's anyone in the room other than her.

"Oh, I'm sorry." He announces, stopping himself. "Am I interrupting something?"

Walter looks at him, then at her, and shakes his head. "No." he mumbles, turning to leave.

"Walter!" She snaps. "I really want to-"

"Nothing to discuss. Hope you feel better." He calls back from outside the doorway.

There is a very, very awkward moment in the room before Adrian decides it's time to close the door.

"He doesn't seem your type." He jokes, obviously assuming the two are more than just friends, and in a sense possibly offering her comfort. She shakes her head and crosses her arms.

"He's not. We're neighbours, anyway."

"Ah, well, I hope you two patch things up… it's a tense time for everyone… I got you these," he announces, handing her the flowers. "They're genetically altered flowers from the gene splicing department, I hope you don't mind them, there aren't many florists open at this time of night."

"Oh no," she assures him, examining them. They're indeed unique, the colours are all vibrant and some of them have a metallic sheen. "They're beautiful, they'll brighten up the room."

"Speaking of which," he sighs, looking around the small, literally plain hospital room they'd thrown her in. "You won't be in here for much longer. I'm having them transfer you to Mary Immaculate hospital as soon as possible."

"Oh, that's sweet, really, but there's no way I could afford that."

"I take care of my employees."

She stares at him for a moment and smiles, not having any idea what to say. "Mr Veidt, that's so kind… I… uh… thank you."

"It's no problem. You've been a big help with the fabrics."

She frowns, time to implement more of her story into action. "Yeah, how are the fabrics, anyway?"

He smiles and shrugs, sitting down in the chair across from her. "I'm not sure, but I'm assuming they're all accounted for, Miss Saturn?"

She freezes and her heart begins to thud, and she's not sure if she should take the heart monitors off or deal with a nurse coming in as a reaction to her increased heart rate. For a second she feels like vomiting, and she almost cries as she turns her head to look at him.

"…You… you…" she can't bring herself to say anything else. He nods.

"They call me the smartest man in the world, Genevieve, and even someone without such a title could figure it out."

"…How?"

"How? A few simple deductions, first and foremost, I like to think of myself as observant, and your poorly hidden bruises are ones that are synonymous with someone who knows well how to block and fight properly. That night when you referred to me as a mask had me initially curious… and then there's the matter of your current injuries. Every single organised criminal was in that warehouse tonight, as well as Rorschach. Now, taking a look at your chart…" he continues, taking the information from the end of her bed and scanning over it.

"Taking into account the rate at which you lost your blood and when you arrived at the hospital, I'd say you would have had to be shot roughly at the time the police arrived at the scene. Any sooner and your condition would be much worse and you would probably be dead, but any later and your condition would have been much better and not as much blood lost. Now, Rorschach was in the warehouse at the time you would have been shot in order for this to make logical sense. The alley you claim to have been mugged in is far from the docks, Miss Sutherland, and unless Rorschach has developed the ability to teleport, I doubt he would have made it to you in time. It's indisputable that he did bring you to the hospital, the security camera footage proves that… so that just leaves the question of where he found you. Now… there was only one handgun found at the scene, with one singular bullet shot…"

"That… that doesn't prove anything. Maybe I was confused, I thought I was in the alley but I was closer to the warehouse…"

"True. However, I'm sure if I suggested they run a quick ballistics test on the gun found at the scene and the bullet they've removed from you, we'd have a fair case that you were _indeed_ in that warehouse."

There's a silence, her jaw is wide open and she's tempted to punch that smug asshole right in his perfect mouth. "…So, I guess I'm going to jail, huh?"

Leaning back, she's sure he'll confirm this. "Not necessarily."

She blinks. "What?"

"Well, there are two options. I can go to the authorities, and no doubt they will grant you a plea bargain. They may or may not just send you to an asylum depending on what sort of information you can give them."

She shakes her head. That wasn't happening. She's not sharing anything.

"Or we can come to a compromise."

Her eyes thin. "What kind of compromise?"

"Well, it would include continuing to work for me, of course, you're my gateway to those fabrics and the patents for them, after all."

"So I'd be a puppet."

"A puppet making a lot of money. You're more than qualified, of course. Then there's the matter of publicity. Right now my approval ratings because of this scandal with the so called 'dangerous' fabrics are taking a blow."

"Donate to charity."

"True, however, that would lack the human interest factor that comes with taking in an injured individual and caring for them. Besides, leaving you uncared for in such a condition would be seen as bad form."

"…What are you getting at?"

"The media would very much enjoy a story about this. Especially if I took you in, set you up in an expensive home, made sure you had the best medical care… you _are_ a victim of crime, you know. And no one would have to know that you were Miss Saturn."

"Wait… _were?_ You're making me stop?"

"I'm not, however, it's not wise for me to keep someone who is such a risk to the company on staff, and to be honest, if the charts are right, your chances of being able to don't look so good. I'm offering you a way out, an opportunity to make the best of a less than desirable situation."

She shakes her head. It sounds more like blackmail to her… but he's right. "So it's an offer I can't refuse, then?"

"Well, you can refuse it… I just wouldn't recommend that you do."

--

He has the bag in his hand when the landlady knocks on the door. He grunts, tossing it aside and under a bench before answering. No doubt she wants money.

"Walter." She snorts, her arms crossed and her neck covered in hickeys. He keeps his hand on the door in case the need comes for him to slam it.

"Your friend," she begins. "Uh… umm… Genevieve, yeah, that was it, how do I find her?"

He frowns. "What?"

The landlady gestures behind her, and he hesitantly leans out of the doorway and looks in the direction of her room. Men in overalls are moving all of her things into boxes.

"She's moving?" he asks. She nods.

"Yeah, got a call this morning from her. Adrian Veidt is moving her into an apartment with wheelchair access or something, if I'd known she was screwing _him_ I'd have charged her more for rent."

Although the suggesting of her having an affair with Veidt slightly derails him, he shakes his head. There's a more important question. "Wheelchair access?"

"Oh yeah, didn't you hear?" she asks, eyeing the removal men as they pass with boxes. She seems unusually talkative. She must want something. "Poor girl's stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of her life, looks like it, anyway. Either way, she aint' climbing the three flights it takes to get up here for a while. Anyway," she coughs; a wet, chest-cough from years of smoking. She hands him a letter. "That came today from her. You got any idea what hospital room she's in? She still owes me rent."

He holds the letter in his hands and looks back up at the landlady. "Will find out."

Without another word he slams the door shut and sets the locks. He tosses some garbage off the nearest available seat and sits down, ripping open the envelope.

_Walter,_

_There is a letter waiting in my mail slot for you. I have instructed the landlady to leave my mail there until it's picked up. You shouldn't have a problem breaking in. Please read it._

_I've been moved to Mary Immaculate, room 34A on the 6th floor. Visiting hours are 12-5.30PM if you want to see me. Don't bring the sign. _

_-Genevieve._

He scrunches up the letter and shoves it in his pocket, and moves outside. The removal men are finishing up, it doesn't take much to convince them he's collecting her mail for when he visits her later. There are three envelopes – one is a catalogue, one bears a return address from Paris, and the other has return address, but has a Mary Immaculate logo on it. It doesn't take the smartest man in the world.

When he returns to his apartment, he makes sure his door is triple locked and even shuts the window before he opens the letter. This one is much longer.

_Rorschach,_

_I'm in a tight position in the moment. I won't lie, I can't tell you everything or give you all the reasons, but I'll tell you what I can. _

_We can't work together anymore. I know I've said it a million times, I know I've come back every time and I know you think this time will be no different, but when you go out next, I won't be there, and this will be the case forever. It's physically impossible._

_The doctor this morning told me the prognosis wasn't good at all. At this point they highly doubt I'll walk again, and even if I do it will take years of physical therapy and I'll never be able to 'dance' again. They wanted to know why I was so fit… Anyway, there are some other issues, too, turns out the trauma affected more than just my spine, but I won't bog you down with things that will probably just make you uncomfortable._

_Veidt has offered me a permanent position, it's very high ranking, well paid and comes with all sorts of benefits. He'll be providing the resources I need to further my mother's work. I can't turn down the opportunity. Thank you very much for telling me to go back. He's also been kind enough to pay for my treatment at Mary Immaculate and to set me up in a nice apartment with wheelchair access, as I guess you might have figured from the sudden move out. He's even offered to pay for my physical therapy should the time come. He's a dick, but he's generous. _

_I know you don't want to talk to me about what happened at my place. So we won't. But I want to tell you something first. I… actually, I'm not sure what I should tell you. You pretty much had every emotion that I'm able to express that night, even ones I didn't know I could. I know it was hard for you to deal with, but, well… I can't believe I'm going to say this, but you are the first person I have ever actually wanted to be that close to. And I mean, it was hard for me to deal with, too, do you know how fucking scared I am? There's all of these emotions buzzing through me that I've never even come close to feeling before and I don't know if they're normal or if I'm going insane. I feel like I'm doing something wrong just thinking about them, like it's dirty or wrong or immoral or sick or something. But you know… I'm kind of getting used to them and I don't want them to go away. _

_Anyway, that night… well, I'm not going to pretend it'll happen again or go anywhere or anything. I think I'd be kidding myself. But why did you leave? No, wait, that was a really fucking dumb question. I don't exactly know why, but I have a rough idea. I'd be a little embarrassed, too. Well, maybe you weren't embarrassed, I won't pretend to know. I have no idea what happens in your head, to be honest. _

_The point I wanted to make before I rambled (sorry, they've got me on morphine at the moment and it's not doing wonders for my brain) was that it's up to you what happens now. As I said, I come out with you anymore, but we can still see each other every now and then, Walter could use a friend, I assume. It's your choice weather we never see each other again or if we stay friends or even if we, well, you know… anyway, I doubt that will happen, but yeah, I'd like it if I could see you once in a while, even if it was once in a blue moon… but I understand if you never want to see me again after this._

_I hate to keep talking about myself, I must sound so fucking self-absorbed right now… but I'm going through a hard time at the moment, and I don't doubt it'll get worse before it gets better. I'd like to have a friend through this, and you're probably the best friend I have, even if it didn't seem like it. You helped me, you raised me from some kid in a mask to a force to be reckoned with, you saved me from doing something stupid, you showed me this weird, twisted version of love, you saved my life, you're the best friend I've ever had._

_Thank you for everything. _

_I'll miss it._

_-Miss Saturn._


	22. The Ending of an Era

**I am SO sorry.  
Like, honestly if I could bake you all cakes and send them over the internet I would. I have been so slack that I am actually embarrassed.  
I've had a lot going on at the moment, my life has been all over the place and when I have had time, I've been stressed over this chapter. I've been scrutinising it like the OCD child I am. Hopefully it's up to standard. I'm willing to re-write if you guys have any problems with it.**

**Anyway, I hope the length of this chapter makes up for it. Second last one... Thanks to all my reviewers, old and new, and Kat. :3  
**

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It's 12 in the afternoon; they're packing her things in the hospital room. She looks out the window and grips the letter in her hand. A nurse taps her on the shoulder.

"Miss Sutherland?" she asks, her voice soft and filled with concern. "Your driver is here. Are you ready?"

She breathes in deeply and shuts her eyes, biting her lip and nodding in an attempt to stay calm. "Yeah… yeah, I'm good."

For a final time she looks out the window and the nurse wheels her out of the door. She places the letter in her pocket and adjusts her hat as they enter the elevator. As they exit the elevator, she feels a ping of extra sadness. She's spent a month here, and although freedom will be nice, she will miss the smell; hospital smell was always a favourite. From the reception area she can already see them buzzing around like vultures. Adrian was right, the press were ruthless. A few interviews and pictures and she was suddenly the national pastime, even when coming out of hospital.

Outside, security has already cleared a path to the vehicle, two caretakers already waiting by the open door to lift her from her wheelchair and into the back of the limousine. All they had to do was get her on the seat, her arms over the months of therapy had become stronger than ever, and if her legs were working Rorschach probably would be proud of her.

They close the door and she's safe inside, although she can still hear the calls of the reporters outside.

"Miss Sutherland, what's _really_ going on between you and Adrian Veidt?"

"Is it true your weight loss is due to an eating disorder?"

"Genevieve! Can you tell us more about your pain killer addiction?"

She laughs to herself as the car pulls away, shaking her head. They have the funniest stories, most of which seemed to be coming from nowhere. She wonders if Adrian puts up with as much of this. Maybe it's because she's female, the evil of the human race as Rorschach would imply…

She removes the note from her pocket, and in silence unfolds it. She reads it over again, like she has so many countless times before, but it still feels as poignant as it did the first time.

"_Sorry."_

She runs her fingers over his signature, the two symmetrical 'r's, and bites her lip. She doesn't want to cry, especially over this. He'd be ashamed if she cried over one word, she's being over-dramatic. It's nothing. Just one stupid word, and no matter how much it means to her it probably doesn't mean as much to him.

She folds up the letter and stuffs the letter back in her pocket, and opens the mini bar of the limo, grabbing a mini-bottle of Champaign and opening it, spilling a little bit as she does so. She looks out the window and then takes a drink.

A toast to a new life.

--

It's August. He walks to the newsstand, as he does every day, his sign over his shoulder giving an almost universally ignored warning. Bernard spots him stands up.

"Yeah, man, I got it for you, hold on, it's under here somewhere…"

He searches underneath a pile of things, and a picture on one of the gossip magazines catches Walter's eyes. It's her.

'_Genevieve begs doctors: __**"HELP ME TO WALK AGAIN!" **__Star scrambles to heal amid pregnancy scare.'_

The picture is a less than planned one, her eyes are scrunched up, she seems to be mid sentence, but the lighting is poor enough that she looks upset. He frowns. She's a star now?

A woman approaches the newsstand and Bernard looks up at the sound of her heels.

"Excuse me?" she asks. "Do you have my subscription for today?" she asks. He nods and quickly tears the gossip magazine down from its peg and hands it to her, obviously deciding an attractive woman was far more important.

"Oh," she winces, a look of disgust on her face. "I read this one at work today. You keep it."

"Well you already paid for it when you paid for the subscription, so…"

She stares at the magazine. "Well I don't want it."

There's silence as Bernard goes back to looking for the Gazette and the woman tries to figure out what to do with the magazine.

"I'll take it."

She stares at Walter in confusion. "…_You_ want _this?_" she asks rudely.

He nods. "Landlady might like to read it." He lies – he's very curious to read about the whore's 'pregnancy.'

She looks at him in disgust, but shrugs and gives him the magazine anyway. "Suit yourself."

The woman walks away and Walter rolls it up as Bernard turns around and hands him the Gazette, Walter handing the money back.

"You'll save it for me tomorrow?"

"You know I will."

"You won't forget?"

--

He arrives back home, throwing the sign down and sitting down on his bed. He unrolls the gossip magazine, he doesn't doubt it'll be a quick read before he can get stuck into the Gazette.

_**I JUST WANT TO WALK AGAIN!  
**__Gen races against clock to get out of wheelchair before baby arrives._

_Amid reports of a pregnancy, Genevieve Sutherland, socialite closely linked to Adrian Veidt, is in an urgent bid to get back onto her feet, a source says._

"_Genevieve is absolutely beside herself to start walking again before she has the baby." The source who is close to Genevieve says. "She's been at a physiotherapist every day for the last two weeks and when she's not in therapy she's doing the exercises at home. She's completely ignoring anyone who tells her she won't be able to walk again and is refusing to listen to any negative input. She's mortified by the idea of raising a child from a wheelchair, she just wants to be able to walk them to their first day of school and she's scared she'll be hindered as a parent otherwise."_

_According to another source, there's more than getting out of the chair on her mind. "I think it would be stupid to assume [about the child's father] that it's anyone other than Adrian Veidt. If she's not at a doctor or working, she's at his place or going somewhere with him, she's always seen with him and he's all she ever talks about."_

_But it looks like things won't be getting easier another source tells us. "She keeps bringing up getting married and it just doesn't sit right with him at all. He's totally not ready for marriage right now and insists there's too much on his plate." But does the millionaire know what's in store? "There's no way she's told him [about the pregnancy] yet. I think she's just going to wait until he hears from the media, he's way too calm at the moment."_

_When contacted, Adrian Veidt's media rep had a very blunt message. "We don't comment on such stories." James Maier responded when asked about the pregnancy._

_Genevieve Sutherland won over the nation's hearts when Adrian Veidt offered her total support after the violent mugging that rendered her paraplegic. Adrian Veidt recently announced he will be working with Dr Manhattan on a new, clean, free energy source._

He shuts the magazine and tosses it aside. Total trash. Every single part of that story is a lie, there's no way she would ever allow herself to have a child with _Veidt_ of all people – although it could happen, it may be a way for her to secure whatever money she can get from him, and he doesn't doubt she's been sleeping with him for a very long time, either. If he's even straight, that is…

But he knows better. She's not working hard to get out of the wheelchair for a child. She's just determined to get out of it because she doesn't want the scum to win, she doesn't want to be useless. Maybe she wants to mask up again and make a valiant and triumphant return, rise from the ashes, be with him again…

He scrunches up his eyes and shakes his head. No, even if that _were _the case, it wouldn't happen – he'd never allow it. He's had time to reflect back, she was too much of a distraction.

He works better alone, he learnt this when Dan quit, and he should have remembered it.

--

It's September.

"Well, I have some good news and bad news." The doctor begins, arranging his papers once more. "What would you like to hear first?"

The woman grunts, taking a drag on her cigarette and avoiding eye contact with the man. "Give me some good news, for the love of god, I could use it."

The doctor smiles and straightens himself up. "Well, looks like you're responding very well to the physiotherapy, and I can say with confidence that we'll have you walking again in the next two years, tops, we can probably do it in less. You're a more than determined woman."

"And the bad news?" she asks bluntly, obviously not too impressed with the doctor's idea of good news. She knew she'd walk again; it would have taken god himself to keep her in that chair.

"Well, uh… unfortunately this is some very bad news… it's about your reproductive functions."

This was the last thing she wanted to hear, her worst fear, and she already knew where it was going. She nervously chews on her lip and takes another drag. The doctor continues.

"Unfortunately, the damage to the uterus is too great and the scarring has permanently altered the lining in such a way that… well… your chances of ever conceiving a child are slim to none."

There's a silence and she exhales, cursing god under her breath. So he'd decided to let her walk but never start a family, huh? That bastard. She's shaking, and although she's not sure if she's angry or upset, she knows it's not a good emotion.

"Now, we can provide counselling," the doctor says, trying to move on. "Infertility is a very difficult thing to cope with and-"

"No thankyou. That won't be necessary. So… there's nothing at all? Not even this new IVF thing I've heard of?"

The doctor shakes his head, frowning. "Unfortunately that's not the case. In-vitro-fertilisation still needs a healthy womb to carry the child in, I'm afraid even if the egg did implant then you'd have virtually no chance of carrying the child to term."

A single tear runs down her cheek, and for the first time she feels anger towards the person who'd saved her life. If he'd just let her die…

"There are _other_ options, however." The doctor clears his throat, seeing she's upset. "You still have healthy ovaries producing healthy eggs, and there are many women out there who would be thrilled to offer their services as a surrogate mother, which we can do via the IVF method. In fact, even if there are further complications like we discussed and the ovaries _do_ need to be removed, we can still freeze and store them for you. And then there's adoption, of course."

She smiles. The doctor is trying hard to cheer her up, although she's not sure if it's because he's concerned about her or the money he'll be receiving from the person who's taking care of her. But either way, she feels relief, and her anger dies down. He's right, there's still more options.

"Any news on the gang responsible?" he asks, changing the subject. She smiles and shakes her head. Such an easy charade for her and her caretaker to keep up – he'd had the police on her case chasing after a non-existent gang for months now.

"No, not yet."

"Well, I hope someone finds them. Even if it's that crazy masked man that does it. Sometimes I wonder if those people think about the damage they cause… anyway, let me get you another prescription…"

--

It's December 31st.

He watches from the rooftop as the figure pulls itself out of the car much to the delight of the crowd that had attracted his attention. A red carpet has been rolled out for Veidt and the whore he once new, who has changed so much since he last saw her walk.

Her hair is longer now, and she's much thinner. She wobbles with each step, holding onto Veidt's arm – although from the looks of it, she's doing it for the balance. She'd only recently announced she was walking again, this is the first time anyone has seen her do it. The gossip magazines can rest easy tonight.

He feels a familiar yet unwelcome feeling when he sees her smile the way she does when she's truly happy. And why not? She's living in the care of the 'smartest man in the universe,' has a fantastic job and fame, and now she's on her feet again and smiling that unforgettable smile. For a woman who can't conceive, she's doing okay.

That thought makes him grunt in frustration. Not only did that gunman ruin her legs and take her from him, he took away any chance of a normal life from her – a normal life with a husband and children and a nice house like she deserved. He'd tried to avoid listening to any of the news about her, but when it became public it was impossible to avoid. A grab at sympathy and more sales for Veidt, no doubt.

He stops his own thoughts and tries to remind himself that he isn't supposed to feel this way about her. She brought this on herself, she took the risk when she put on that mask and she had to accept the consequences. He watches as Adrian stops to sign a few autographs for fans, her still clinging to his arm. She looks around at the city, at the skyline, everything, her expression seeming dazzled at the world she's been thrown into.

And then she looks at him. For a second he's not sure if she's seen him, but then she smiles and he knows she has. A photographer taps her back and she quickly turns around, and it's then that he runs. She's okay now. It's the closure he needed. Maybe now he can move on.

When she's done posing for the photo with Veidt, she looks back up to where she had seen him, but he's gone. She should have known he wouldn't stick around, but she still feels disappointment. She's been so long without even a glimpse of him… but for a fleeting moment he was back. Was he after her? For a second the thought of him hunting her down and killing her for what she knows crosses her mind… but he wouldn't. If that was the case, he would have come for her when she was in hospital.

One of their minders leads her over to a reporter who is waiting for her to the side of the carpet. An impromptu interview begins as soon as she's been handed a microphone with the gossip station's obnoxious logo on it, she knows it will be marketed as exclusive.

"You look fantastic!" the woman swoons, Genevieve nods her head and plays along without a doubt that she was paid to say that.

"Thankyou," she replies. "It's been a while since I've done anything like this…"

"Oh really?"

"Actually, this is the first time I've been to a movie premier…"

"So tell us," the reporter asks, flicking back her blonde hair with her fake nails. Total Yuppie material. "Who are you wearing?"

"Oh? This? This is House of Veidt." She announces, looking down on her dress and trying to ignore the horribly intimidating camera.

"So you designed it yourself?" the woman almost shrieks. "I know you've been doing some work for the Veidt fashion line!"

"Yeah, yeah I did…"

The reporter changes the subject without warning, taking a much more serious tone. "Now, I understand this is your first public event since you started walking again, how does it feel?"

She's a little taken back by the sudden change. "Uh, well… it's great…" she begins, trying to remember what she'd been advised to say. "I'm just kinda trying to get used to it again, but it's great to be up and about again."

"I assume it would have been a very emotional experience when you first got up?"

"Oh yeah, definitely. There were a lot of tears that day." She wasn't lying this time. She had indeed been _very_ emotional on the day.

"And how has it been working so closely with Adrian in… well, not just business, I guess personal things, too!"

She smiles, even though this was what she was dreading. "Adrian's been fantastic, he's taken the best care of me and I don't think I'd standing up right now if it wasn't for him. I kinda owe everything to him." The lines are so over rehearsed that she's not sure if they sound natural or even convincing. But the reporter seems to buy it.

"So what's next?"

"Well, we've still got a lot of work to do, I still need some help balancing. Other than that, I'll be hosting an auction next week for the Veidt foundation which will be helping the starving children in Africa, and after that I've got a lot of work to do on the fashion line so I think I'll be hunkering down for a while."

It's not long after she makes the plugs she was told to that a minder leads her away, putting the painfully fake interview to an end. She finds her way back to Veidt and takes his arm again and through gritted teeth as she smiles, she begins to whisper.

"Said everything you told me to." She hisses, her expression staying happy as she wobbles a little under her own weight. She didn't want to come tonight, but Veidt insisted the more vulnerable she looks, the more sympathy she'll generate.

"Good," he replies as they enter through the doors. "You seemed a little excited before. What was that about? Did someone fall over?"

She stops smiling now that they're inside, but keeps everything quiet. "Just excited to be dragged to the opening of some movie I don't care about."

"Give me _some_ credit. You don't smile like that out of irony."

"I just… saw an old friend." She smiles a little bit and gives a chuckle to herself. "Yeah. An old friend."

--

It's the December of 1985. He's dead.

She throws a plate at Veidt, who dodges it with ease as it smashes against the walls. The argument started over the book that she holds in her hand – a journal. She's been like this for an hour.

"Why didn't you fucking stop him?! You could have done anything at all, he didn't have to die! You could have reminded him that people need him! You could have hit him really hard, you could have put him back in jail or in an asylum or something!! Why didn't you fucking tell me?!" she screams, hysterical. She's not sure what upsets her more – the idea of Veidt causing the international Tragedy, or that Rorschach is _dead._

"I felt I couldn't trust you." He says, matter-of-factly, he'd fully expected this response from her. "It was too recent."

"Too recent?" she asks. "Christ, Adrian, they're _still_ rebuilding from what you did! Goddamnit it, Adrian, I fucking _adored_ him! You _knew_ how much he meant to me! Oh god… why didn't I say anything to him… why didn't I just fucking tell him…" she's sobbing so hard now that she has to double over. "Why couldn't I just fucking _say_ it to him… three fucking words… oh god…. Jesus Christ… why? Why the fuck would you do this?!" she screams, straightening herself up.

"Well, you know my reasoning for doing it."

"What makes you think I won't go out there and tell everyone right now?" she asks, wiping the tears from her eyes, her grief turning straight into blind rage.

"Well, first of all, after the amount of money and effort I have put into rebuilding I highly doubt anyone will think you're anything but delusional."

"Let them call me crazy." She snaps, attempting to head for the door. Within a flash, he has a grip on her wrist – as strong as she is, she's no match whatsoever for him.

"If you would let me finish, then you'd hear me explain that this comfortable lifestyle you've settled into does come with conditions that we made when I had you moved into a nicer hospital, and you know _damn well_ what they are!"

"I don't care!" she shouts, trying to pull herself away. "I'd rather die than… than have to keep this from people, you _bastard!_"

He leans in and looks her in the eyes. "It can be easily arranged. I had no problem killing Edward Blake, you would hardly present a challenge."

She stares at him in horror. They had fought before, but he had never, _ever_ threatened to harm her. She begins sobbing again and finally frees herself, but not moving away. He's right. She _can't_ tell anyone. Telling people won't bring him back… and it will just means more will die…

"You're like him sometimes, you know." He says, walking away and sitting on the couch. "So militantly aligned with the truth and justice that you're blind to the greater good. If anyone was to find out about this then war would almost immediately ensue, and many more people would die, you know this as well as anyone else. I paid a lot of money to buy that journal before the editor of that newspaper sold it, and I paid even more to have him killed to prevent him from leaking it."

She sits down on the opposite couch, calmer now to the point of almost being numb. She's been distraught for about two hours now. "…Why did you give it to _me_, then?" she asks.

"Well, I have a favour to ask of you, and I knew it would take a little persuading. Besides, you seemed to know him best, and god knows where Dan Dreiberg is now."

She runs her fingers over the journal's cover and looks up at him. "What is it?"

"Sales are taking a hit." He announces. "It's part of a Boycott."

She gives him a curious look, still wiping tears away. If there was one thing her mood swings did, it gave her the ability to change subjects quickly and calm down. However, she's in for a rough ride when he leaves later and it's just her and the journal. "Boycott, why? You've only been doing good…"

Veidt picks up a gossip magazine and tosses it at her. The cover doesn't waste any time.

_**ADRIAN VEIDT – GAY? **__It's more likely than you think. _

"Christian groups," he begins as she flicks open the magazine to the page about Veidt, which displays countless photos of him with men in just about every non-sexual yet questionable situation. "are, as you'd expect, calling a boycott on all Veidt industries products and services. It seems ignorance is still rampant."

"Oh god," she sighs. "Jesus Christ, Adrian, how the hell did they find out?" she'd known of his alignment for a while, and although he wasn't entirely inclined to men, he wasn't entirely inclined to women, either. In fact, it seemed he leant more towards the former of the two.

"Well, I assumed it would come up sooner or later, although I _was_ hoping the country to be a little more accepting by then…"

"It's the 80's for god's sakes! Get with the fucking times!" she curses those who are obviously offended. "How hard are sales being hit?"

"Hard enough that if we don't remedy it soon, I may have to down-size the company in the future."

She's silent for a moment as she scans over the article. "So what will you do?" she asks, shaking a little, the combinations of events causing her to tense up. "Come out? You might see growth in sales from the gay community…"

"No," he sighs. "I considered it, but I did some research and there's a lot more homophobic and militantly religious people in the US alone than there are homosexuals who aren't already consumers worldwide. And internationally, well, there are a lot of Catholics in the world, and we might not even be able to market in the Middle East because of it…"

"So you're denying it?"

"Essentially, yes."

She frowns. "That's good and all, but convincing the press? How do you plan to do that without simultaneously offending homosexuals?"

"That's where you come in."

She pauses and stares at him in horror as he begins to pitch his mastermind idea. "I'm going to be honest with you, Genevieve. You are a very, very bitter woman."

"This is true." She mumbles.

"I have never seen you take an interest in a man, I am assuming this won't change."

She shrugs. He's right, she was so wrapped up in her total contempt for men and feeling sorry for herself and her inability to have kids that she'd forgotten to find a husband. "Probably not. You're all pigs and I don't need you."

He chuckles. "Well, this may seem like a lot, but perhaps we could take on a viable partnership together."

She coughs in horror and her eyes widen as tears begin to run down her face again. "_What?_"

"Of course, it would just be like everything else, a nice little show for the public. We would probably keep displays of affection to a minimum, of course, and we won't even need a ceremony, although, I suppose a small and private event would seem much more convincing…"

She hasn't moved at all. "You have _got_ to be fucking _kidding_ me."

"Oh?" he asks. "So you're not open to the idea?"

"You're asking me to _marry_ you now?!" she shouts. "Are you _insane?_ You _just_ finish telling me you killed my _best _friend and… and millions of people and you're asking me to do _this?!_ Jesus Christ, no thankyou, I'd rather you kill me than that." Once again, she is sobbing like a mad woman.

He nods. "I thought it would come to this…" be begins. "Tell me, Genevieve, if you could have anything in the known universe, what would it be?"

"I'd either have Rorschach back or a child. Good luck giving me those."

"Actually…" he laughs. "I _can_ help you with the latter."

She pauses. "What?"

"You and I both know that there is a crisis at the moment concerning the adoption of children who were orphaned from the tragedy, and we both know that the city of New York is only letting them be adopted by married couples. If we're married, we'll have _no_ problem adopting a child."

"What about all the red tape that's stopping the other couples from adopting?" she asks, a little bit of hope bubbling up inside her no matter how hard she tries to contain it.

"I have a feeling that _I_ of all people should _not_ have a problem getting around the tape. Do you think I'd ask you to enter such a commitment if there wasn't mutual benefits? You have been an indispensable resource for me, Genevieve, I feel it's time you were rewarded as such."

She pauses, gripping the journal in her hands tightly. A child? She can finally be a parent? She can help someone after what he's done to them? It doesn't seem right to marry someone for those reasons… but she thinks of what she read about Rorschach. All those children are in homes right now, and even though they're not like they were back then, it's still nothing compared to a family… if she could save just _one_ child from having a hard childhood…

"…I'll do it."


	23. Dawn Of An Era

**Here it is. The last one. I don't really know how to say this, but I'm kind of attached to this story. First time I've ever actually finished one... heheh...**

**I enjoyed writing it _so_ much, I may just have to write a sequel... I won't give away too much just yet... but some of our friends may return... Oh hell, there will be a sequel if you're interested in reading it. The title? _God Help The Outcasts._ Not too proud on where I got the title, but if you know what it's from, well... *ahem* it _is_ a good movie. Should have the first chapter up tonight.  
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**Anyway, thankyou to everyone for reading this. I'm so glad that I've been lucky enough to write something that people have enjoyed (even a little.) Gigantic thankyou to Kat, Riot and Gaara for their on-going support, you guys are the main reasons I continued and kept me motivated to keep going and going. You've all helped me to grow as a writer and I thankyou unconditionally.**

**Here we go. Thankyou all so much for reading.**

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"Did you say it was the third shelf from the top? Because I'm not finding anything…" Margo calls as she rummages through Genevieve's closet. The shelf is too far up for Margo, and even on a chair she's balancing to get through the dusty boxes.

"Yep! That should be where it is…"

Margo continues to feel around for what Genevieve had described for her – a bundle of books that will contain Genevieve's old copy of _Under the Hood _which Margo needs for school.

Suddenly, she feels something crawl over the top of her hand and automatically assumes it's a spider. She screams, pulling her arm from out of the shelf and causing about half the boxes to tumble out with it and crash on the floor, the sound alerting Genevieve.

"What is it?" she calls from down the hall. Margo panics and jumps to the floor, scrambling to fix the mess.

"Nothing!" she calls back. It's too late, however, her mother is already at the doorway, giving a sigh at the state of the room.

"Margo… you know we have a stepladder, right?"

"Chair was closer, Mom." She replies, putting things back in their boxes.

Genevieve cringes – she doesn't like it too much when Margo calls her that. Even though she thought she would have loved being called Mom, she still feels too young, especially considering Margo is nearly 18 herself. "You're so lazy sometimes…"

Genevieve begins to help, taking the opposite side of the mess and putting things back. Margo begins tossing things into a blue box, when she picks up a small, leather bound notebook.

"Found it!" Genevieve exclaims, holding the dusty book in her hand. Margo on the other hand, is pre-occupied.

"Hey, Mom," she begins, giving her the weird feeling again. "Who's Journal is this? Is it yours?"

Genevieve stares at the journal for a second, before snatching it out of her daughter's hands. "No." she says quietly handing her the book they'd come to find. "It's not."

"Is it Dad's?" she asks, flipping through _Under the Hood._

"No…" Genevieve replies, putting the lid on some of the other boxes. "It… belonged to an old friend of mine."

"Oh, alright…"

Genevieve takes a deep breath. She'd hidden that on purpose. She takes the journal and heads down the hall and into the living room, Margo following at her own pace as she scans through the book.

"I can't believe we have to read this for school…" Margo sighs.

"Why not?" her mother asks with her back to Margo but still looking at the journal in her hands.

"It's crap. This Hollis Mason guy acts like a hero when in reality he's just a criminal. They passed the Keene act for a reason."

"You think so?" Genevieve replies, not really listening.

"Yeah. Besides, they were all sick in the head, anyway… well, except for Dad, but I guess he quit while he was ahead and did something with his life. But like, at school, as the introduction to this book, right? Well they told us about that Rorschach guy. Dude was seriously messed up in the head. He should have been locked up as a kid. And that Sally Jupiter lady? Put some freaking pants on."

Genevieve pauses. "What did you just say?"

"Sally Jupiter was a tramp?"

"No, before that."

"Well Rorschach was a psychopath. He never really did anything good… I wouldn't even call him a hero."

Genevieve right away wants to tell her everything and launch into a tirade about how that 'psychopath' saved her life in more ways than one.

Instead. She turns to her and extends her arm, offering the journal to the teenage girl.

"You want a _real_ hero?" she asks. "Read that."

Margo looks at her like she's insane. "What? But it's just-"

It doesn't take a genius to guess how to get Margo interested in the journal. "I'm not actually supposed to have it, and a _lot_ of people would pay a _lot _of money to read this… it doesn't leave the house, alright?"

Margo stares at her for a second before rolling her eyes and heading for her room, ignoring her mother's offer. Genevieve smiles a little, if Margo is anything like her – and despite being adopted, she is at times – she would have been inspired by it in many, many ways. Maybe _too_ inspired… she laughs to herself at the thought of Margo becoming a vigilante. Although with two former masks for parents, it's not too out of the question. She _does,_ after all, have a great physique from being on the cheerleading team… and she's got a good head on her shoulders. Although she is very unpredictable, she could have sworn making the journal sound scandalous would have convinced her into reading it.

Genevieve shakes her head and heads to the fridge to get a glass of wine. Margo, a vigilante? That'll be the day, right after the Keene act is revoked…  
She takes her glass of wine and heads to the living room, sitting in her seat and putting her feet up as she turns on the TV. No use lingering. She thinks about Rorschach for a while. She's gone over it before a thousand times, but it will never be enough. Veidt never said exactly _how_ he died, and that alone leaves thousands of questions. Was it painful? Are they even sure he's dead? Did he go to heaven or hell? Is there even such a place for someone like him… she wonders if he was right about god the whole time...

She closes her eyes and tries to remember, and as it usually does, it comes in flashes. The first time they crossed paths, his voice, his smell, what his kisses felt like… she tries to remember where the note is, and she remembers it's in the back of his journal, which sits on the coffee table... maybe it's better Margo doesn't read it, after all. Margo's under enough stress as it is, she doesn't need to learn of all the lies… maybe when she's older. Margo knew from day one about the condition of Genevieve and Veidt's 'marriage,' that it's a sham, but she's not sure if she'd be able to understand just yet _why_ Genevieve will never fall in love again, why she even _considered_ entering a sham marriage…

Because the only one Genevieve knew enough to love couldn't compromise.

"_And our top story today, congress is calling for 'desperate measures' in response to the drastic police shortage as a result of the November 2__nd__ attacks two years ago…"_


End file.
